


Ripper Street Cafe

by literati42



Series: Ripper Street Cafe [1]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Brimel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Malcolm Bright Gets a Hug, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Past Suicide Attempt, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends, Team as Family, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:14:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23167567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literati42/pseuds/literati42
Summary: COMPLETE!Coffee Shop AUThe Ripper Street Cafe, a coffee house themed around famous serial killers, where unknown to many, one of the most famous serial killers' own son works as a barista. It did not really seem like the kind of place JT would want to frequent, but when Gil's connection and a trail of clues keep leading him back, JT may find himself spending more time with the strange blue eyed crime junkie barista than he ever wanted.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/JT Tarmel
Series: Ripper Street Cafe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796341
Comments: 129
Kudos: 205





	1. John Wayne Spicy

**Author's Note:**

> "Hey Chris, did you just start a new ongoing story before finishing your current on going story?" Why yes, reader. I have! Don't worry, more obsession is coming soon! In the meantime, enjoy this romp into a classic fanfiction trope...a Coffee shop AU!
> 
> Will it be a slow burn? The slowest!
> 
> Will there be more bad coffee pun names? Obviously that's half the reason I wrote this!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> If you want to know more about my Prodigal Son work and find out things you can do to be a part of it, check out the link here:  
> https://existentialwednesdays.wordpress.com/2020/02/06/want-to-know-more-about-me-as-a-fanfic-writer/
> 
> As always you can also follow me on twitter @themythofpsyche and on tumblr @literati42

“What kind of person would work at a serial killer themed coffee shop?” JT asked. He watched Gil’s whole expression change.

“What did you ask?”

“Our vic had a coffee cup from someplace called Ripper Street Café,” Dani filled in. Gil let out a long sigh.

“I know exactly who would work at a place like that. Come on,” he said, grabbing his coat. “I’ll introduce you.”

_-_-_

JT followed his boss to the café that turned out not to be far from the precinct and, consequently, not far from JT’s place. JT was a purely make coffee at the station or at home kind of guy, so he had never thought to look at the local spots when he moved here from his time overseas. Of course, this was not the kind of place he would have walked into of his own volition anyway. It had a big historic-looking sign like something out of a stage production of a Dickinson novel that read Ripper Street Café. The word “Ripper” had three slash marks through the p’s, painted bright red like claw marks. While he and Dani were both studying it, Gil walked straight in.

“Be careful!” a woman’s voice shouted from inside the door that Gil just disappeared into. JT rushed in with Dani at his heel to find…Gil standing there perfectly calmly as a young Asian woman beamed up at him.

“I’m piloting that new greeting whenever people enter, what do you think?”

“I think you might alarm some people,” Gil replied, looking over at JT and Dani.

“That’s the whole idea.”

JT shook his head. When he tried to imagine the kind of person they would meet here, he thought of a goth with hair in their eyes, not this young woman with a bright smile, even if her lab coat and coffin necklace did fit a bit more with the aesthetic he imagined.

“JT, Dani,” Gil said, “This is Edrisa Tanaka. She owns the café.”

“And how do you know her?” Dani asked.

“Gil!”

JT’s eyes swung to the door in the back where a man, probably a little younger than JT, walked out. He did not have the goth look either, just wore a plain, grey long sleeve knit shirt. He struck JT in two ways. One, his eyes were a startling shade of blue. Two, those eyes seemed to pierce directly into JT as he looked between the three newcomers before finally landing on Gil. “Did you come back for another coffee?”

“This is where you stop for coffee?” Dani asked, her eyebrows nearly rising to her hairline.

Gil frowned, glancing her way but choosing to answer the man instead. “I thought you would be off by now.”

“Nico didn’t come to work today,” he replied. Gil’s hand came up and squeezed his shoulder almost automatically. JT saw the look that was so familiar and fond it took him by surprise. Who was this man his boss greeted like family, but he, and judging by Dani’s questioning look her as well, had never heard of?

“Malcolm Bright, Edrisa, this is Detective Dani Powell and Detective JT Tarmel.”

The one he indicated as Bright ran his eyes across them again, looking so deeply it nearly made a shiver run up JT’s spine. This kid was creepy. “You’re working a case,” Bright said, looking to Gil.

Gil motioned to the empty café, “ Since no one’s here at the moment, do you two have a second to talk?”

“Is it always this dead in here?” JT asked before she could answer. He had not meant the joke, but Edrisa laughed anyway.

“Dead in here. Clever, Detective,” Edrisa said. “Of course we can talk. Bright, would you throw the back in five sign up?” As he made his way over, JT scanned the room. It was a cozy layout, perfect for studying or doing work if it was not for the decoration choices. The walls were a dark crimson, while the countertops and trim were all painted black. The couches, pillows, and tables were all gradients of black and gray. The lighting was the soft kind of bulbs that created pools of light around the room, giving it a spooky vibe and casting shadows about. There were fake crows lining a shelf above the counter.

Edrisa followed his eyes and smiled, “A murder of crows,” she explained. He raised his eyebrow at her and kept looking. The walls were decorated with newspaper clippings and various collector's items from a number of high profile serial killers. Dani began walking around the room, seeming to read them, as Bright returned from putting the sign on the door. “Want to sit?” Edrisa asked indicated a table. JT looked at it and hesitated, just now realizing each table top had a unique painting on it. Each held the stylized image of one of the murder weapons from the game Clue. Edrisa took a seat at the candlestick table, and Gil sat across from her. Bright slid in beside him, leaving JT to pull over a chair from an adjacent table.

Dani stopped her perusal and turned back to them. “No Surgeon?”

JT was about to turn toward her, but his eyes snagged on the barista, Bright. The kid somehow became paler at her words. “What?” he asked, barely seeming to get it out. Dani raised an eyebrow.

“There’s all these famous serial killers, but not the most famous one from our own backyard?” she asked, coming over to them.

“We never liked the Surgeon,” Edrisa said, her tone quick. She reached over and touched Bright’s arm, and he looked at her and gave a slight nod. A whole conversation playing out in front of them that they were not supposed to understand. JT was used to lying witnesses, but he could not understand why they would be lying about this. More than that, he realized with a glance, his boss seemed to know exactly what was happening. JT’s frown deepened.

Dani joined them at the table, and Gil used that moment to produce the photo from the victim’s website. “Have either of you seen this man?”

Bright took the photo and then tilted it toward Edrisa. “Yeah, he’s come in here…about five times? Only started coming in the last few weeks. He always asks for Nico, but you know he keeps odd hours,” he said this to Gil. “So I’ve served him a couple of times.” 

“Always orders a half café,” Edrisa offered.

“Pays in cash,” Malcolm said. “He said his name was Ethan.” He tilted his head, “Is he a victim or a suspect?”

Dani shook her head, “We can’t comment on an ongoing…”

“Victim,” Gil said, cutting off her words. Her head whipped to look at him. “He was murdered.” Malcolm nodded slowly. They were acting like this conversation was perfectly normal. Though, JT realized, they were currently surrounded by crime coverage on every wall, so maybe for these incredibly strange coffee shop workers, it was.

“What did you make of him, Bright?” Gil asked. The barista steepled his fingers.

“He was rigid. Ordered the same drink, sat at the same table. He didn’t make much small talk.” He frowned, his look getting distant. “He didn’t seem to like this place. He made a real effort to avoid looking at the walls.”

“Can’t imagine why,” JT said.

“Any idea what he wanted with Nico?” Gil asked.

Bright shook his head, “They seemed to know each other, but Nico never explained.”

“And this Nico didn’t come in today?” Dani asked.

“Right, but that wasn’t unusual,” Edrisa said, “Our Nico keeps odd hours.”

“So you both said,” Dani said, “By that you mean…”

Bright and Edrisa made eye contact, then looked back. “He had a flexible schedule here. I mean, usually, he’d tell us if he isn’t going to come in, but it isn’t so strange for him to be gone a few days at a time.”

“And that’s allowed?” JT asked.

Edrisa smiled, “My workers are family. Nico’s just the…little brother who isn’t terribly reliable but makes absolutely excellent John Wayne Spicy’s.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“It’s a drink named after John Wayne Gacy, but it’s also a unique take on a Spiced Chai Latte.”

“So that’s a no, I didn’t want to know,” JT replied.

“How was he killed?” Bright asked.

“Garroted,” Gil replied to him without hesitation. This time JT met Dani’s confused eyes.

“Garroting?” Edrisa said, looking to Bright, “There are so few garroting cases a year. It’s a wide-open frontier of murder.”

“Got anything on garroting murders?” Gil asked, meeting Bright’s eyes.

“Edrisa’s right. It’s uncommon, violent, and very personal. You have to be strong and right on someone to kill like that.” He frowned, “I can look into it.” Gil squeezed his shoulder.

“I’d appreciate that.”

JT had a million more questions, but it was suddenly clear that the lieutenant was wrapping this up. He put the photo away and stood, the others followed. “Take care, kid. I’ll see you tomorrow. Call if something comes to mind, and let Nico know we want to talk to him.”

“Yeah, of course, Gil,” he replied. “Detective Powell, Detective Tarmel.” He offered his hand. Dani shook it. JT studied it a moment until the kid just lowered it.

“If there’s anything else we can do,” Edrisa said, still cheerful, waving as they headed out the door.

JT exchanged looks with his partner as they left, keeping step with their boss. “Gil,” Dani said first. He stopped at the Le Mann to meet their eyes.

“That doesn’t really seem like your kind of place,” JT suggested.

Gil nodded at that, “I don’t go for the setting.”

“Who is he?” Dani asked, “The barista? Who is he to you?”

“A…friend,” Gil said, and there was something in his tone that told JT that word hinted at something far more complicated. “I’ve known him since he was a kid. He’s a good guy, we can trust him, and he’s got good instincts.”

“Good enough to tell him details of the case?” JT asked.

Gil tilted his head, “I trust him,” he said the words without any reserve. “He’s helped me with cases before. He might give us something useful. Coming?” JT gave Dani one more look before they all got in the car. As Gil headed them back to the precinct, JT could not help casting one more look at the café. He did not know what to make of the weird, creepy barista who clearly meant more to Gil than anyone JT had ever seen him interact with. He could not forget the way Malcolm Bright reacted to bringing up the Surgeon, though what it meant he could not begin to guess.

Who was this man, and why did JT suddenly feel certain they had not seen the last of each other?


	2. Chapter 2: Jeffrey Dahmer Stomach Bomber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! In the absence of new episodes, if you get PS lonely, I'm posting a new chapter each week till the show comes back, Monday nights at 9! I hope it provides some balm until our beloved Malcolm is back on our screens.
> 
> As always join me on twitter @themythofpsyche and on tumblr @literati42, and check out all my fandom related stuff as well as how you can help with my work on:  
> https://existentialwednesdays.wordpress.com/2020/02/06/want-to-know-more-about-me-as-a-fanfic-writer/
> 
> Enjoy!

“We’re not getting anywhere,” Gil said, sighing.

JT looked up at his boss. “What about the coffee shop lead?” he asked. He was not sure what made him say it, but it had been two days since they went with Gil to the weirdest coffee shop he had ever set foot in, and JT had not been able to stop thinking of it. Maybe he was just curious how someone like Gil could get on a first-name basis with a crew of over-caffeinated, crime obsessed weirdos.

Gil glanced at him, but nodded slowly. “We could see if Nico knows anything.” He pulled his cell and dialed. “Hey, kid,” he said, and JT leaned closer to see if he could catch more, but it was too low for him to hear the voice on the other end. “I was wondering if Nico is in today? Really. I’ll be there.” He hung up and looked at them. “Seems like he hasn’t shown up for work in the last few days,” he said to his detectives. “I’m going to run by and see what I can gather.”

“I’ll tag along,” JT said before his thoughts could catch up. Dani raised an eyebrow at him. He shrugged at her. “I’ve been wanting a John Wayne Spicy,” he said, sarcastically. Gil seemed doubtful, but nodded and motioned for him to come.

_-_-_

“Look out behind you!” Edrisa shouted as they walked in. JT whirled around, but nothing was there. He slowly turned back to her.

“New customer greeting?”

“Got to keep it fresh,” she said, beaming. The place had more costumers that day, a couple in one corner, a few kids that appeared to be college students studying on the couches. JT eyed them all and followed Gil to the counter. “Can I interest you in today’s special, detectives?” she asked.

“Not the John Wayne Spicy?” JT asked.

“Today we have the Jeffrey Dahmer Stomach Bomber.” She beamed up at him, “It’s a locally sourced kombucha, great for digestive health. And don’t worry, no actual human body parts included.”

“What a relief,” JT replied dryly.

Gil shook his head, “Black coffee, please Edrisa. Bright called.”

Her frown fell. “About Nico? Yeah, he’s been worried. I get it, I am too, but Nico does keep his own time. But…he’s never been gone this long without contacting one of us.” She shook her head, “Bright must have called you from practice. He isn’t back yet.” JT glanced at Gil to see if any clarification on “practice” was coming, but the older man clearly already knew what she meant and saw no reason to enlighten JT. “We’ll wait for him.” Gil paid her and nodded to the table by the window before heading to it.

“Want to try that Jeffrey Dahmer Stomach Bomber, detective?” Edrisa asked JT.

“There are so many reasons the answer is no,” he said, following Gil and dropping into one of the seats.

“So you and Dani are trying to figure out the story here,” Gil said, looking at him. JT shrugged.

“It’s not any of our business,” he replied. He saw Gil give him another doubtful look.

“Well, you could say Malcolm Bright is like family, has been since he was a kid,” Gil said. “He’s a good man. The kind of friend anyone would be lucky to have. Damn loyal, and brilliant. He could do anything, anything in the world. He can be difficult, and not everyone sees his good traits right away.” He studied JT, “You might not like him.”

“Good to know,” he replied, but he felt a slight stab of hurt. Was the lieutenant saying he was not patient enough to see Bright’s good traits? Or that he was judgmental? “And this ‘practice’ thing…” Before the question could fully form, the bell above the café door chimed. For a moment, the light from outside cast the newcomer in silhouette, but gradually JT’s eyes adjusted, and the figure of the very man in question came into view. Bright had an exercise duffle over his shoulder, wearing a black Henley, and what JT concluded was a fancy version of exercise pants. A thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.

His eyes met JT’s and then passed over to Gil. He smiled, dropped the duffle on the floor, and began walking toward them. JT saw a limp in his step. So did the lieutenant it turned out. The older man frowned. “What happened there?”

Bright dropped into a chair beside him. “I fell during practice.” He dismissed this quickly, leaning forward. “Gil, Nico hasn’t been in for days, and he isn’t taking our calls.”

Gil nodded, and JT saw in his expression how serious he was taking this. “And this is definitely outside his usual?”

“It is certainly pushing the limits,” Bright said. JT watched the older detective as he seemed to examine the kid in front of them.

“Bright,” he said slowly, “Did you get hurt during practice or did you get hurt going out at night looking for Nico?” Bright ran a hand through his hair, and JT saw it shake.

“Someone has to look for him, Gil. No one one else is going to do it. People like Nico fall through the cracks, and I won’t let that happen.”

“Now someone else is looking. Me,” Gil replied, he leaned over and squeezed the back of Malcolm’s neck. “So, no more looking for trouble on your own.”

“Gil, you know trouble finds me,” Bright replied.

“Yes, maybe. But you don’t make yourself hard to find,” he said. Gil’s phone rang and he glanced down.“It’s Dani. I’ll be back.” He stood up, “Give JT a list of places to start looking for Nico. Anything you can think of.” With that, Gil stepped out of the café, leaving JT with the strange barista. JT raised an eyebrow. Bright smiled in return.

“What’s this mysterious nightlife that Nico’s involved in?” JT asked. Bright grabbed a napkin and began writing down addresses. The detective found himself noting how clear the handwriting was despite the shake in Bright’s hand.

“You’re determined it has to be bad?”

“Most people don’t have wholesome secret nightlifes,” JT replied, tone dry. Bright stopped his writing, glancing up.

“That shows a distinct lack of imagination, detective.”

There was something cocky in the way this kid spoke, like he was the smartest person in the room. JT leaned back, studying him with a closed expression. He realized all at once that Gil was entirely right. He did not like Malcolm Bright at all.

“Alright. I’m going to ask you the questions that for some reason the lieutenant won’t.”

“I’m excited to hear them.”

“How well do you know this Nico?”

“He’s my roommate, and we work together. He had an accident a few years back. Lost his arm. We had just met before it happened. You know how trauma can be bonding sometimes.”

“Usually only shared trauma.”

Bright folded his hands, “It was shared. We were in a car accident together.”

JT nodded, then gestured to Bright’s outfit. “How do you afford those fancy clothes on a barista salary?”

Bright leaned back and laughed. “You’ve sniffed me out, have you?” he said it like a challenge, but JT could tell the man was not taking this seriously.

JT leaned forward. It was time to make him see how serious he was. “What are you and Nico into? Drugs?”

Bright’s smile stayed in place, “I promise you, that Nico and I are not into the same things. Not…exactly anyway.”

Gil walked back in then, coming over to the table, but JT was not quite done. “What is this practice that comes with ankle-twisting danger?”

Bright glanced up at Gil and then back to JT. He still looked like he was having fun. JT found it infuriating. “What does JT stand for?” he replied.

“Just JT,” the detective said.

“As in the letters J and T are the only things on your birth certificate?”

“As in its none of your business,” JT replied.

“Okay, if we’re being mysterious for no reason, I won’t answer yours either.” Bright grabbed another napkin and wrote down an address. “But, if you are curious about my practicing…” He offered it to JT. The detective left him hanging, giving an unamused look.

“I’m not that curious.”

“Suit yourself,” Bright said, but he left the napkin on the table in front of JT. “Gil, if you don’t need anything else…”

“Go ahead, kid,” Gil said. The three of them stood. “JT, give me a minute with the kid?” the detective nodded and headed to the door.

“Come back soon,” Edrisa called, “Tomorrow, Bright’s making his special.” JT ducked out without a greeting. It was only when he was outside and put his hand inside his coat that JT realized he had picked up the napkin after all.

_-_-_

Gil watched JT retreat, seeing the annoyance in the other man’s posture, before turning back to Bright. The barista was still smiling like he was enjoying himself. “Is it necessary for you to flirt with one of my detectives while we investigate the case of your missing friend?”

“Would it be better if I flirted with your detective when you’re not looking into my missing friend?” Bright asked. Gil gave him a look, and the barista lifted his hands. “No, Gil. Don’t worry. Ever since Eve…I am not looking for a relationship, ill-advised or otherwise.”

“I hope that is not generally true,” Gil replied, “But in this case, it may be for the best. JT hasn’t exactly confided his sexuality to me.”

“I know, Gil, don’t fall for the straight ones,” Bright gave a pained smile, and Gil knew what old memories it reflected. “Besides, I’m pretty sure JT was not impressed with me. He did imply Nico and I might be part of a drug cartel.”

“He doesn’t know you,” Gil said, squeezing the back of Bright’s neck. “You’re an acquired taste.”

“Like dark roast,” he replied.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Edrisa said, butting in as she came over to clean their table. “I loved Bright the minute I saw him.” She gave him a look that was 85% fondness and 15% adoration. She hugged him as she went by, and he beamed at her in return. Gil remembered when their working relationship started. He was a bit worried about the kid. Edrisa was lovely, but she also salivated when Bright entered the room. His kid, so used to rejection, was desperate for the acceptance she offered, but her crush was sometimes overwhelming to him. Still, gradually she let go of the idea of them as romantically involved. Unrequited attraction changed to genuine mutual affection, and their friendship since then had become one of the most important in Bright’s life.

Gil gave the kid one more affectionate squeeze. “Wrap, ice, elevate. And do not push yourself in practice. And no more going to Nico’s haunts alone at night.”

“So if I do want to go, I should call that detective?” Bright asked, his tone teasing, but Gil narrowed his eyes anyway, just in case. “Just…find Nico.” Gil nodded to him and headed out of the coffee shop. He spotted JT leaning against the Le Manns.

“Did you figure out what you wanted to know?” Gil asked.

JT glanced back to the café, his frown firmly in place. “Not even close.” He got in shotgun. “If I’m going to help, I’ll need to know what Nico’s secret is.”

Gil looked over and considered him a second before focusing back on the road. “He’s a sex worker. BDSM, specifically.”

“Fifty shades of grey shit? Got it.”

“Look into what you need to,” Gil said, “But JT. We are not interested in his sex work beyond any connection it has to our murder victim or Nico being missing.”

“Is Bright involved in sex work?”

“No,” Gil replied.

JT considered for a second that this meant Bright had not lied to him. “Do you think this Nico is really missing?”

“The kid thinks he is, and he’s frequently right about this kind of thing.”

JT raised an eyebrow, “How often does this kind of thing happen to a barista?”

“For most baristas, probably not often,” Gil said, “But JT, you will find that Bright is not most baristas.” JT nodded, considering it.

“He told me about Nico’s arm.”

Now Gil looked surprised. “Did he?”

“He said they were in a car accident.”

The surprise left Gil’s face, “Ah.” JT frowned in response, suddenly filled with the sense that he was missing out on the important bits of this information.

“About what Bright practices…”

Gil raised one hand off the steering wheel. “No, JT. If you have more questions about Bright, I suggest you ask him. He does love to talk.”

“He definitely loves the sound of his own voice.”

Gil laughed quietly, but it was full of such fondness that JT found himself letting it drop. It was clear to him that the lieutenant could not be unbiased when it came to a certain blue-eyed barista with one too many question marks attached to every sentence he said. JT settled into the shotgun seat, realizing with something like dread that this was undoubtedly not the last time he would see Malcolm Bright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is Malcolm practicing? What is up with that car accident? Which type of coffee is Malcolm's specialty?!? Find out next week!


	3. Chapter 3: BTKarafe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mistake is corrected and the real chapter 3 is now up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The best laid plans right? SO if you tuned in at 9:00 like I said last week, you will see that I was quite proud of myself for posting on time...  
> ...  
> ...  
> the wrong chapter! Woops! Sorry everybody. Through a series of ridiculous events I accidentally posted chapter 2 again. I...literally cannot. But this is a perfect metaphor for the day I'm having!
> 
> ANYWAY. Here is the actual new chapter.
> 
> Back to your regularly scheduled chapter notes...  
> Hey cats and kittens! (...I'm watching Tiger King, so help me). Hope you enjoy the new chapter!
> 
> CW: Some reference to past suicidal behavior.
> 
> As always, connect to me on tumblr @literati42 or on twitter @themythofpsyche. You can also see how you can get involved in my writing at:  
> https://existentialwednesdays.wordpress.com/2020/02/06/want-to-know-more-about-me-as-a-fanfic-writer/
> 
> The song referenced here is 3AM by Halsey and it’s a banger!
> 
> The coffee name joke JT makes was inspired by my friend CornerofMadness. Shout out to her!
> 
> Thanks for coming back! I hope you enjoy the story! Check the end notes for resources on the topics within it.

JT told Gil he was going to start running down leads on the missing barista that morning before coming into the station, but it turned out that Nico’s so-called “haunts” were pretty dead in the daylight hours. He did not find the man at the closed bar, or the other closed bar, or the third closed bar. JT sighed in frustration, considering heading back to the precinct. He walked to his car and leaned on the side of it, dialing Gil’s number to report in.

“I’m not surprised,” Gil said, “Nico is a creature of the night, but I appreciate you looking in on them anyway.” JT could hear the weariness in his boss’s voice. “And, look, we’re treating this as part of the murder investigation. Nico could be a witness.”

“Yeah,” JT agreed, “I’m…going to keep at it a while longer,” he realized that this was his decision the minute he said it out loud. He knew what Gil was not saying: that Nico was an adult, that there was no real evidence he was missing, and that a missing sex worker would not raise alarm bells for their higher-ups. JT practically snarled at the thought that those in charge still made calls on whose lives had worth and who did not. JT knew what it felt like to be one of the forgotten. That was the reason he could not go back yet, not empty-handed.

JT almost convinced himself that this was the only reason.

He reached into his pocket to pull out the napkin, covered in Bright’s neat handwriting, that listed out the places Nico could be. The detective realized the other napkin was in there too. The one with the address to Bright’s mysterious practice location. He raised an eyebrow. It was only a short walk from the coffee shop and JT’s apartment. He got back in his car and began driving that way.

“What are you doing, Tarmel?” he said to himself, his tone vaguely reminiscent of his old drill sergeant. What was he doing? Going to see Bright again for the third time. He sighed but kept his car on track toward the destination. As much as the lieutenant loved this kid, Bright was the exact kind of weird that JT would usually keep after. Bright obviously knew things about the victim he was holding back. He was not forthcoming with information. A picture of Malcolm Bright the day before, giving that cocky, smarter-than-everyone grin popped into JT’s mind. He needed to get to the bottom of Malcolm Bright, and just maybe it would lead him to the missing barista and the murderer of their victim.

JT pulled his car up in front of a big, nondescript building. He frowned. There were no signs on the front indicating what it could be. He got out and approached, but there were no obvious entrances either. The detective made his way behind the building until he saw stairs leading up to a door. Cautiously, he walked up and tried the handle. The door swung open, and immediately, he was greeted by the sound of music. It was a pop song, one he did not recognize, but he rarely listened to that type of song. It had a driving beat and haunting vocals. He began walking down the undecorated hall, following the sound. The lyrics began condensing into words he could make out, “I need it digital because baby when it’s physical I end up alone.” The hall led him to a door, partially opened. He pushed it the rest of the way and looked in.

JT stood at the back of a theater, all the chairs empty, and the only lights a colorful array aimed at the stage. He took a few steps forward, staring. The only other person in the room was the man on the stage.

Bright.

The man wore similar clothes to the ones JT saw him in the day before, but this time the shirt was a light blue, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Bright was barefoot save the wrap around his hurt ankle. He moved across the stage carefully, favoring the injured foot, which was clearly holding him back. But, even with that and the fact that JT’s eyes could not be more untrained in this area, the detective knew immediately that Bright was good. The music seemed to move through him like he was possessed by it. Eyes closed, Bright was not following the music, he seemed almost to create it with his body.

JT kept moving forward almost without realizing it until the lights hit him, and he hesitated. Just at that moment, Bright’s eyes opened and found him standing there. The barista jumped in surprise.

And he landed hard on his ankle.

With a call of pain, Bright crumbled on the stage. JT leaped up the steps and ran to him, hitting his knees on the ground beside the barista. “Bright, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he got out through gritted teeth, his face furrowed in lines of pain.

“Yeah,” JT said, annoyed at his lies. Why could he never get a straight answer out of this kid? Bright leaned his head back, eyes shut.

“I will be. I just need a minute.” He squinted his eyes open, looking at JT. “You came.”

“Don’t get a big head,” JT replied, harshly. “I was looking for Nico.”

Maybe it was the pain, lowering the barista’s defenses, but JT saw the cracks in him. He looked sad. “Anything?”

“Not yet.” He glanced down at the kid’s ankle, “Got ice?”

“Mhm, backstage.” Bright shifted, trying to get up. JT let out a deep sigh, grabbing the kid’s arm and helping him up.

“Don’t put weight on it,” he said. Bright nodded, his expression focused. JT guided him toward the back. The detective realized he felt something off about the arm he was holding on to, and he glanced down. His fingers were lying on a large, raised scar. Bright seemed to realize the same thing a moment later because he pulled away, trying to subtly pull his sleeves down as he hobbled the last few steps to the couch.

JT glanced around, finding himself in a classic backstage changing area. He spotted a mini-fridge and made his way over, grabbing some ice from the freeze and wrapping it in a towel. He brought it over as Bright perched his leg carefully on the couch and offered it to the barista. JT took a seat on the nearest chair and studied the man.

“So, you’re a dancer,” JT said.

“Disappointed you didn’t find a meth lab?” Bright asked, managing an amused glance at him even if his voice sounded pained.

JT scuffed. “You’re not hardened enough to have a meth lab.”

Bright put a hand to his heart, “I could be a hardened drug dealer.”

“Yeah, right, I’m incredibly intimidated,” JT replied, dryly. This close to the barista, he realized the blue shirt made the blue of Bright’s eyes pop. JT blinked. That was a strange thought to have, he realized. He felt weirdly defensive and snapped, “You barely look like you could defend yourself against a child.”

Bright flinched, looking hurt and confused for a second, before frustration took over. “You don’t know a thing about me.”

“I know you’re a dancer and a barista at a weird ass coffee shop. I know you’re serial killer obsessed.” JT leaned toward him, “Probably never considered what that kind of place does to the victim’s family. Fetishizing murderers like that. Fucked up and privileged, man.”

The shocked look was back, then his mouth closed, and something shifted in Bright’s eyes. “Maybe you’re not that good of a detective after all.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t know the first thing about me,” Bright replied, “So why don’t you go back to trying to find my friend, or am I a suspect now? Is that why you’re asking all the questions?”

“Everyone’s a suspect.”

A shrill ring cut off their argument. Bright grabbed his cell without breaking eye contact with JT, his gaze furious. “Edrisa?” he asked. He listened for a second, then let out a breath, “No, I’m okay. I’m sorry, I’m late. I’ll be right there.” He hung up and looked back at JT. “I have to go. You can show yourself out, right?” Bright lowered his foot to the floor and stood, flinching violently. JT shot up, catching Bright when he wavered. He could have cursed at this circumstance that led him to be literally holding up the man he was arguing with.

“Look…if I didn’t help you to your car, Gil would have my head.”

“I don’t have a car,” Bright replied.

“How did you get here?”

“Walked.”

For the second time, JT could have cursed. “Let me give you a ride.”

“Are you sure you want a potential criminal like me in your car or am I riding in the back?” Bright replied. JT sighed.

“Look, we don’t have to like each other, but I am trying to find your friend. Things would go a lot better if you worked with me.”

“In what way have I not been working with you?” Bright asked as JT started to help him hobble outside.

“You haven’t answered any of my questions.”

“I told you about the dancing.”

“Barely,” JT said, “You didn’t even tell me what Nico did for a living. At night.”

Bright glanced at him, “It surprises you I didn’t tell a cop that my friend’s a sex worker?” JT leaned the barista against his car and unlocked it, letting him get himself in but staying close until he was. JT slowly walked around and got in.

He took three breaths. The barista was infuriating, self-righteous, and ridiculously defensive, but he was also clearly in pain and worried about his friend. So the detective softened his tone. “I am trying to find Nico. Maybe you’ve had problems with cops in the past, but I am not judging your friend.”

The barista looked over and studied him, his arms slowly coming uncrossed. “What do you want to know.”

“The BDSM. What do you know about it?”

“Some, academically, but I don’t know the specifics of his business. I told you, BDSM is Nico’s thing.”

“Yeah, cause I just watched you dance on a twisted ankle. Seems like some pretty sadistic tendencies to me.”

Bright glanced over, clearly surprised. Then he laughed, letting the tension flow out of him. “No, that’s masochistic tendencies. If I was sadistic, I would have made you dance on an injured foot.”

“You’re a smartass, you know that?”

“I did know,” Bright said, “You are not the first person to note that.”

“I bet.” JT glanced over again, some of the balance regained between them. “Okay, another question. If you aren’t selling drugs and you’re not into sex work, how did you make the money for those clothes?”

Bright smirked, “I didn’t make it at all.”

“Ah, you stole it.”

Bright laughed again, and JT found himself smirking in return. “That’s right, detective. The coffee shop is a front for my elite gang of people with very specific skills that I have put together for a heist.” He shook his head, “No, you keep crediting me with too much entrepreneurial spirit. I didn’t earn it. I inherited it.”

JT’s eyebrows jumped up. “Trust fund?”

“Mhm,” Bright replied, “Milton heir.”

“The…Milton’s that own half the New York skyline?”

“One and the same.”

The detective glanced over at him for as long as it was reasonably safe given he was driving. He whistled. “Rich, spoiled trust-fund kid. Got it.”

“You know, Gil calls me kid because he’s basically my father, but I’m not that much younger than you.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I’m 31.”

JT glanced his way, “You have kid energy.”

“What does that mean?”

“You talk too much, you're chaotic, and apparently you get into trouble frequently.”

Bright shook his head.

“So,” JT went on, “If you’re loaded, why are you working at a coffee shop?”

“Everyone needs a reason to get out of bed in the morning.

“And you thought...overpriced coffee with stupid pun names will be just the ticket.”

“Hey, no throwing shade at baristas. We do very important work. Without us, many of the other jobs in this world would not get done. We literally fuel this economy. Such as it is.”

JT raised a hand in defense, “I’m not saying anything about baristas in general, just you specifically.”

“Ha,” Bright replied.

“Seriously, why this job?”

“Wait, are these questions relevant to your search for Nico?” Bright asked, looking over at him, “Or are you more curious about me than you admitted?”

JT frowned as he stared forward. He had lost the thread of the questions and let himself just ask the things that had been bothering him about Bright. “Alright, strike it from the record.”

Bright shook his head, “I don’t mind answering,” he replied. “Nico started working there first. I was going through a bit of a time, so he encouraged me to join him.”

The detective subtly glanced at Bright’s arms, wondering if a ‘bit of a time’ had anything to do with the scars he had felt on them. “You and Nico are close then. How did you meet?”

“The accident,” Bright said. “I told you we were in it together, but we weren’t in the same car.”

“You were in an accident with someone, and then you became friends?”

“What can I say, I don’t really do conventional relationships.”

JT pulled up in front of the coffee shop then. He looked over at the barista sitting beside him only to find Bright had turned in the seat to look at him too. They stared at each other for a moment, then Bright closed his eyes, “I…um, don’t actually think you’re a terrible detective.”

“Yeah, I don’t actually think you’re a suspect.”

Bright’s eyes flew open. “You don’t?”

“Nah.”

The barista stared at him for a moment, a soft look of understanding in those blue eyes. “You know, I did think about the victim’s families, and the murderers’ families too. When I first started working at the café, I thought about them all the time. It was a little like being surrounded by ghosts.”

“So, why do you work there then?”

“Because Edrisa made me see that it wasn’t about fetishizing serial killers. Yeah, some people come in with that attitude, but the regulars?” Bright shook his head, “So many people who come in often have experienced terrible tragedy in their lives. Some of them survived violence themselves. Or they are full of anxiety. Because, detective, it’s not about celebrating the criminal. It’s about gaining every bit of knowledge you can in the hope that maybe, maybe you can make sense of the trauma. That maybe if you know every detail of every crime, one day the reasons they did these things will become clear. It’s about gaining some bit of control over the absolute darkest parts of humanity.”

JT looked at him, studying the complete sincerity in Bright’s face. “So,” he said because he could not help himself. “Your stupid serial killer pun coffees help people make sense of their trauma?”

Bright looked over at him, and yet another time that day, his face broke out into a wide grin and he laughed. “Maybe not the drink names.” He leaned back, “You’re really going to hate when you see what my special is called.”

“Let me guess, cannibal cappuccino?”

“Worse. BTKarafe.”

“No.”

“It’s black roast, our darkest blend, with turmeric for health, served in a carafe.”

“I need you to get out of my car.”

“It’s named after BTK, bind, torture, kill.”

“I got it.”

“He’s the one who…”

“Aren’t you late for work?”

Bright smiled at him. “We have a section of our wall dedicated to him.” JT shook his head.

“Of course you do.”

Bright got out, pulling himself up, but JT could see by the way he was moving that he was not making it through the door on his own. He walked over and took Bright’s arm again, helping him hobble into the shop. The door opened, and JT’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dark.

To find Gil, Dani, and Edrisa staring at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm Bright in my story and in the show demonstrates suicidal behaviors (and in this story has past attempts). If you or anyone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts, go to the National Suicide Lifeline website:  
> https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/  
> They have a 24/7 help line to call, a number to text, and information on suicide. You can also learn more at the National Institute of Mental Health's pages on Depression  
> https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/depression/index.shtml 
> 
> If you or anyone you know shows signs of self harm, please contact the self-harm help line:  
> https://www.crisistextline.org/selfharm
> 
> If you want to learn more about self-harm and what to do, please check out NAMI's site:  
> https://www.nami.org/learn-more/mental-health-conditions/related-conditions/self-harm
> 
> If you want to learn more about PTSD please go to:  
> https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/post-traumatic-stress-disorder-ptsd/index.shtml


	4. Chapter 4: H. H. Holmes Brew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back!! New chapter! And ANNOUNCEMENTS!  
> 1) Officially announcing that Ripper Street Cafe will be a 10 chapter story! I am currently finishing writing the entire thing (first time in my life being this far ahead!).  
> 2) There will be a story 2!   
> 3) I may also do tiny oneshots set in this AU!
> 
> I would also like to give a shout out to the Brimel and Prodigal Son Trash discord servers, and to CornerofMadness for being so consistently encouraging! You all keep me inspired.
> 
> As always you can come hang out with me on twitter @themythofpsyche and on tumblr @literati42

Gil sat in the Ripper Street café, at the table by the window he began to think of as his, sipping out of a mug designated for him. A few weeks ago, Edrisa had a “great idea!” as she excitedly told him. “Bright and I are going to put up pegs on the wall behind the counter!” The thought of those two with tools always made him nervous, so he made them promise to wait for him. Then one Sunday afternoon, he, Edrisa, and Bright put them up together. It was the happiest Gil had seen Bright in a long time. It felt normal and peaceful. It felt like family.

Now the pegs held mugs specified for each of their regulars to use each time they came in. Most of the regulars played along with the theme. Gil’s eyes traced over them, reading the words. A big black one said in red blood splatter letters read “true crime time,” another read “here for a good time not a long time” with a knife stabbed into the last word. His favorite was Edrisa’s, which said, “looks like a cinnamon roll, could kill you,” though only after she had explained the joke to him in great detail. He learned the word “meme” that day. The one Gil used, Bright gave him. It was a large mug, perfectly fit to the size of his hands, and it was wrapped in a literal turtle neck. The profiler brought it to him with his shit-eating grin, and Gil had just laughed.

Now, every morning he was not at a crime scene, Gil was at the café, drinking the H. H. Holmes Brew out of his turtleneck dawned mug, chatting with Bright and the other two baristas. It was the most like home of anything Gil experienced since Jackie’s death.

When Bright first told him his intention not to go back to his doctoral program as planned when his leave was up, Gil had wondered what he was thinking. His concern doubled when the kid explained he was going to become a barista at a serial killer themed coffee shop. But, days like the one where they hung the mugs, when he watched Bright laughing with a kind of ease he never expected to see in the kid, Gil decided maybe an unconventional path was just what Malcolm needed.

Now, his team at the precinct and his coffee shop family had collided. Gil was worried about his worlds mixing for so long, but now he could not help but feel grateful as he looked at Dani across the coffee shop table from him. She met his eyes, smiling slightly.

“What are you thinking, detective?” he asked her.

“That we are finally seeing the missing part,” she said, raising a mug to him, “I always knew something was missing.”

“And…your conclusion?”

Dani tilted her head to the side. “I’m glad you have them.”

Gil smiled at her fondly. It was a nice moment, in the middle of a case that was going nowhere. He turned when the bell chimed and lowered his mug to the table to keep from spilling it in surprise. Because there before him was JT practically dragging Bright.

“What the hell, Bright?” Gil said, standing up as his mind tried to make sense of any part of this scene.

“The idiot was dancing on a twisted ankle,” JT replied.

“And luckily, JT thought I was a murder suspect, or I don’t know how I would have gotten here,” Bright said. Gil rubbed his brow.

“Bright,” Edrisa said, coming over. “I told you not to push yourself.”

He gave a slight shrug. “I wasn’t…to be fair, I fell because he surprised me by staring creepily at me in the dark.”

“That only happened because you were dancing in the dark like a melodramatic teenager.”

“It helps me focus.”

Gil felt like every bit of energy was leaving his body.

“Well, you can’t work like this,” Edrisa said, a hand on her hip. “You should take the day off.”

“Edrisa, it’s fine.”

“You literally can’t walk, bro,” JT replied.

“Detective, could you take him home?” Edrisa said.

“Do I look like a taxi service?”

“He lives upstairs,” Gil cut in, “And I’ll take him.”

“I really don’t need to be taken anywhere…” Bright shut his mouth at the look Gil gave him. The older man walked over and took Bright’s arm, waiting for the barista to shift his weight from JT to Gil. He helped the kid limp upstairs, and over to his couch. Once Bright was sitting, he went to the kitchen and got him ice. “Gil,” the kid said, preempting any comment, “I just…needed something. I can’t…Nico isn’t…” He looked away, “I don’t know what to do.”

Gil took a seat on the edge of the couch and looked at his kid. “We’re doing what we can.”  
“I know.”

The detective studied him again. “About JT…”

Bright groaned, covering his face. “I don’t know why he’s so interested in my life, Gil. Maybe he does think I’m a suspect.”

Gil nodded slowly, “And why are you interested in his?”

A second groan escaped the kid’s lips, “I don’t know. Arguing with him makes me feel like dancing feels. It’s a high.” Gil stared at him until he lowered his hands and met the older man’s eyes. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

Gil gave a deep sigh, scooting closer and squeezing the back of Malcolm's neck. “It’s not bad, but it is complicated.”

“When isn’t it with me,” Bright said, the familiar self-deprecating tone coming over his words. “I don’t think you need to worry about him, he’s not interested in me anyway.”

“I’m not worried about you hurting him, kid,” Gil said, “And, I’m not worried about him hurting you.” He met the barista’s eyes, “I’m worried about you hurting you.” Bright sighed, he seemed heavier with that breath, and Gil saw all the worry and pain come over his eyes. Malcolm laid his head back on the couch.

“Yeah, falling for someone hasn’t worked out well for me, historically.”

_-_-_

JT looked at Dani across the table, sipping on her coffee with her annoying smirk that always said she thought she had his number. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, making it sound like something. “You’ve been hanging around the barista a lot.”

“He’s a suspect.”

“If we followed all suspects like that, we’d get in trouble for harassment.”

JT gave her an unimpressed look, but leaned forward, dropping his voice. “Dani,” he said, “I think we should run a background check on him.”

“A background check on the kid who our boss and _friend_ considers family?” Dani asked.

“I’ve run a background check on all my past girlfriends.”

“That explains them being _past_ girlfriends.” Dani paused, eyebrow shooting up, “Wait, you want to run a background check on Bright the way you did on your past girlfriends.”

“Dani,” he warned. “Don’t read into things.”

“I shouldn’t read into the fact that you just carried him in here?”

“I didn’t carry him, he was leaning on me. Because he was hurt,” JT replied, feeling his anger rising. “I just think he’s lying about something.”

“I think he’s probably lying about a lot of things,” Dani replied.

“And that doesn’t concern You?”

“Not if it isn’t relevant to the case it doesn’t,” she said, “I’m willing to help you look into him if this is about the case only. If this is anything else, JT, I’m out of it.”

“It’s about the case.”

“You think he’s a suspect?”

No, JT’s gut said, immediately and without hesitation. He frowned, “Yes,” he said, because the way Bright’s body moved through the music had nothing to do with how guilty he was, and JT needed to remember that. He shook his head. “He could be, and we can’t let the boss be blindsided if he is.”

He watched Dani study him. She was his sister, and he knew the subtle shifts in her expression better than he knew his own, which was why he knew she did not believe him. “Alright. I’ll run it.” She handed him a few dollars, “Drop that in the tip jar for me.” She stood, grabbing her leather jacket and slipping into it.

“Bye, Dani! I hope you make it back for the crime scene puzzle night,” Edrisa said. JT raised an eyebrow at his partner, who just shrugged.

“Yeah, maybe,” she said, giving the café owner a soft smile as she ducked out of the shop. JT shook his head and walked over to deposit Dani’s tip. He started just to put it in when he realized there were three jars, each with different words written on the label.

Jar 1 read, “Carol Baskin fed her husband to tigers.”

Jar 2 read, “Joe Exotic has it out for her, Carol Baskin is innocent.”

Jar 3, in entirely different handwriting, read, “The fact that Carol Baskin is judged differently than all of the powerful men on the show is evidence of the patriarchy.”

JT raised both his eyebrows. Edrisa leaned on the counter, “From Tiger King? You know? No?” She shook her head and pointed to the third jar. “Bright wrote that one.”

“Why is that…completely unsurprising?”

Edrisa smiled, “You should come in some time when you’re not just investigating a case. We have a lot of events you might enjoy!” She pointed to the one wall that was free of case memorabilia, but full instead of flyers. “We have the puzzle night, obviously, but also we have a drag night, we have true crime book clubs, and we have Netflix and Kill nights, which is when we watched Tiger King, but all the animal violence made Bright and Nico sad, so we stopped.” JT blinked, trying to take all of that in. Apparently, Edrisa took his silence as a sign to start talking again. “Not that animal cruelty doesn’t make me sad, because it does. Very sad. Just Bright really loves animals, a lot. He has snakes, you know? And a bird. Nothing exotic, just normal domesticated and well-treated pets.”

“Got it,” JT said. “So, I’m gonna go.”

“Right, okay,” Edrisa’s eyes saddened, “Detective, do you think something happened to Nico?”

He paused. The truth was, they were no further on either Nico’s case or their murder vic. They were not even confident the two were connected. “We don’t have any sign that something did.”

Edrisa sighed quietly, “But you also don’t have any evidence that something didn’t happen to him.”

“We’re doing everything we can.” He paused, “Bright said he and Nico are roommates, so Nico lives upstairs too?”

“Yeah,” Edrisa said.

“Do you think I could look around?”

“Oh, I’m not the landlord,” Edrisa said, “I just rent the shop. Actually, Bright’s mother owns the building.” She waved, “But you could ask Bright.” JT glanced at the stairs where Gil and Malcolm had disappeared just a few moments ago. Could he really walked up there and bother them? After Gil watched him carry the other man inside?

He thought of Nico, a man that he still knew so little about. If this was any other case, he would have looked through Nico’s place first thing, but Gil was treading lightly with Malcolm Bright. He had kept Bright’s existence a secret from the team to begin with, and now he was still holding things back. But there was a case on the line and a life potentially in danger. JT squared his shoulders and walked up the stairs, knocking on the door. Gil opened it a moment later.

“I was wondering if I could look at Nico’s room,” he explained. Gil stepped back, pulling the door open with him so JT could see Bright, perched on the couch. “Yeah,” Bright said. “You can come in, Detective…Josiah?”

“Do I look like a prospector from the wild west?” JT asked, coming in. He saw a door open in the hall. A bed that had strapes attached to it. “This Nico’s?”

Bright shook his head, “No, mine.”

JT turned his head back to the room, but he was right in what he saw. There were straps attached to the headboard that led to cuffs.

“Nico’s room is that one,” Bright motioned to the closed door. He started to get up, but Gil’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Keep that foot elevated or you won’t be able to be up to helping Edrisa for drag night.”

“You do drag?” JT asked, he was not sure why he asked it, but Bright smiled.

“No, but I wouldn’t be opposed.”

“You could lip sync to your terrible pop music.”

Bright put his hand to his heart with a mock look of offense, but JT could see the playfulness in his eyes. JT could also see the older detective watching them. He cut whatever this was short and opened the door the barista indicated. Nico’s room was a lot more tame than he expected. There was a bed, but unlike Bright’s, there was nothing particularly notable about this one. The walls were painted grey, but everything else was bursting with color. Over the headboard was a rainbow flag. His other walls were covered in art, not the fancy kind, but the kind you got from street artists or festivals. Rainbow designs, colors bursting around bodies in motion. There was something alive about the art in Nico’s room. JT frowned as he studied it. There was also a distinct chaos. Nothing was arranged in a way that made sense. The room had scattered clothes and books everywhere. It was nothing like the clean and tidy apartment JT had seen in the main room, or from his peak into Bright’s room. So he knew which one of them kept things clean, he noted.

“You really do want to find him,” Bright said. JT looked up to see he had ignored Gil’s warning and somehow hobbled over to lean on the doorframe. Gil gave him a look, and Bright made his way to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. He pulled his good leg up under him and let the hurt one hang.

“I told you, I am looking,” JT replied.

“Yeah,” Bright said, then shrugged. “But you actually are.” JT made his way around the room, reading the covers of the scattered books. The titles revealed topics like art, novels he did not recognize, and several serious-looking volumes on starting a business from the ground up. “What do you need to know about Nico?” Bright asked.

“You finally going to give me more than throwaways information?” JT asked. Bright shrugged. “Okay. What do you know about him?”

“Everything. Nico’s family.” Bright glanced at Gil, then back at JT. “He had a happy, loving family. Parents, a brother. They all died when he was a teenager. He did the foster care route, kept to himself mostly. He stayed out of trouble, but never landed anywhere for long. He is a genius. As soon as he could, he got out on his own and started finding ways to take care of himself.”

“And you met during the car crash?”

Bright shifted. JT saw something like old pain flicker through his eyes. “Yeah. He was…we were both in bad places in our lives, and the crash happened.”

“Because you were in bad places?”

Bright stared down at the floor, but gave a slight nod. “Nico was drinking, the driver did not see him.” He closed his eyes. “It was bad. And he…he went down an embankment.” Bright stopped, his words hesitating.

“Bright saved his life,” Gil cut in. The barista opened his eyes and looked at the older man, something passed between them in the glance. JT got the sense this was an old conversation.

“How?” JT pressed. Bright looked over at him.

“He was trapped, and the car caught fire.” Bright stared down, “He was going to die, so I…did what I had to do.”

“Maybe that’s enough questions,” Gil said. Bright shook his head.

“I cut his arm off to free him and dragged him up the bank.”

JT’s eyes widened, “You cut the guys arm off, and then he moved in with you?”

Bright looked up, “I told you we bonded by trauma.”

“You are fucked up, dude.”

“This…is true,” Bright replied. He closed his eyes, “Does any of this get you any closer to finding my friend?”

“It might,” JT stepped toward the door as he spoke. “Gil…”

“Yeah, I’ll let you out,” Gil said, pointing at Bright, “Don’t move until I get back.” He fell into step with JT.

“So this Nico, is the relationship with Bright as good as he says?” JT asked as he stepped out into the hallway. Gil followed him out and shut the door behind them. “He cut this man’s arm off, and they are the perfect family?”

Gil tilted his head, “I know where you’re mind is, I worried too. Bright clearly feels guilty, and when he offered to let Nico stay in his apartment…I don’t think Nico even officially signed the lease.” He shook his head, “And the kid would let people take advantage of him. He has a truly unbelievable martyr complex.” He shook his head, “It may have started like that, I don’t know, but whatever Nico was thinking when he moved in…the two of them are like family now. Bright has a way of doing that to people. I told you he is an acquired taste, but the thing is, once you start to care about him, he has a way of making it impossible to be only a little attached. Being in Malcolm Bright’s life is an all or nothing situation.”

JT frowned, “Why did you say that like a warning.” 

“I didn’t, unless you think it’s a warning you need.”

JT did not know if he was pushing, but he had one more thing to ask. “Is that why you didn’t tell us about him before?”

Gil sighed, and suddenly he looked extremely tired. “It’s not that I didn’t trust you and Dani.” When he said the words out loud, JT realized that was exactly what it felt like. Joining the team, working with Gil and Dani, he had begun to trust them completely. Now to find out how much Gil was holding back stung. “Bright is…” Gil seemed to search for a way to summarize the man in that apartment. JT understood why it would be challenging, even with all the words in the world, to explain the barista. He thought maybe there was a weird German word that would describe Malcolm Bright. “Bright is complicated,” Gil finally said, “And he is the only family I have left. Maybe it was just easier to keep things separate. But it was never because I didn’t trust you.”

“It seems like you didn’t trust me not to judge him,” JT said, not quite ready to let this thread go. Gil gave him a look.

“Aren’t you judging him?”

JT hesitated, not really having a way to answer that. Of course, he was judging Malcolm Bright. The man was chaos in a barely contained form. He was like unstable molecules spinning around the room, bumping into everything, always ready to cause a reaction. Even when he revealed secrets, it always just hinted that there were even more secrets to reveal. He constantly frustrated JT, and at the same time, JT found himself unable to disengage. When they were in the same room, he had to argue with the man. It was as if he was compelled by an outside force.

Of course, JT was not planning to tell Gil any of this, but fortunately, his boss did not ask it of him. “You should make sure the kid hasn’t fallen over,” JT said instead. They nodded at each other, and JT headed down the stairs. He grunted a goodbye to Edrisa and made his way outside into the cold. The detective got back in his car, his eyes falling on the napkin with Bright’s handwriting, still laying there waiting for him. He sighed, closed his eyes, and let his head bounce off the steering wheel one time before he pulled out.

He had a lot to think about, but one thing was certain. He needed to give himself a break from Malcolm Bright.

_-_-_

The next morning, JT woke up, stretched, got ready for work with a coffee he brewed at home. He watched the dark liquid dripping into the pot, and a flash of the barista’s face went through his mind. He pushed the thought away. He needed a Malcolm Bright free day, to clear his head. To figure out what it was about this man that was getting to him so much. He decided he could look for Nico in other places without his life intersecting with the café. At least for one day.

JT went to the precinct and headed to his desk, but Dani interrupted his path, a folder in her hand, and a look in her eyes that contained levels that made him pause. “Dani?”

“The background check came back,” she said. He reached for the file, but she pulled it away. “You want this because you think there is a real chance we can learn something that will lead us to Nico Stavros?”

“Yes,” JT said, “Did you read it?

“I did,” she said, “But I need to be sure that’s the only reason you want this before I give it to you.”

“Dani.”

She shook her head, and passed the file over. “Just…be sure.” She walked away, leaving him with the evidence that might finally unlock some of the mystery that was Malcolm Bright. JT watched her go for half a second before he opened the file and began to read.

His eyes widened. “What the hell…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm Bright in my story and in the show demonstrates suicidal behaviors (and in this story has past attempts). If you or anyone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts, go to the National Suicide Lifeline website:  
>  https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/  
>  They have a 24/7 help line to call, a number to text, and information on suicide. You can also learn more at the National Institute of Mental Health's pages on Depression  
>  https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/depression/index.shtml
> 
> If you or anyone you know shows signs of self harm, please contact the self-harm help line:  
>  https://www.crisistextline.org/selfharm
> 
> If you want to learn more about self-harm and what to do, please check out NAMI's site:  
>  https://www.nami.org/learn-more/mental-health-conditions/related-conditions/self-harm
> 
> If you want to learn more about PTSD please go to:  
>  https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/post-traumatic-stress-disorder-ptsd/index.shtml


	5. Chapter 5: Ed-spresso Gein

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! I am so excited about this chapter, it was one of my favorite's to write (the angst!) and it officially marks the halfway point in the story. Things only go worse from here folks! hehe
> 
> As always, catch up to me on twitter @themythofpsyche or on tumblr @literati42
> 
> Also shout out to CornerofMadness who came up with the drink "Lady Killer Grey" 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

Edrisa woke up every morning, excited to get to the shop. It was not that she never had bad days, because she was human like everyone else. She also was not a morning person. Often, Bright opened for her because the man never slept, and she would come in feeling still a little tired by 10. No, it was more that she had carved out of the world a place for herself. A place where every ounce of who she was not only fit, but was celebrated. Their regulars loved her perky serial killer obsession. Sometimes she thought if she could only tell little baby high school Edrisa that such a place was not only possible, but that she would own it one day, maybe she could have spared herself so many years of feeling alone.

She worked at the espresso machine, making the Wednesday special—the Ed-spresso Gein—and thought about the life she had now. Bright and Nico, her boys as she thought of them, were her family and the café was her world. A dark cloud passed across her sunny expression at the thought. Nico. She worried about both her boys. Bright because he was so prone to throw himself in the direct line of danger and was even less safe when left alone with his own mind. Nico, who just wanted to live his life without people judging and taking advantage of his wide, open heart. Edrisa knew that at this point, with this many days past, there was no denying Nico was missing. But the belief that just maybe it was all a misunderstanding kept cropping up for her. Maybe Nico had fallen for someone at last and was currently lost in a love-drunk stupor, forgetting to call. Maybe he joined the circus. She wanted so desperately to believe it was anything else.

The bell on the counter—an electronic thing that let out a woman’s high pitched scream—told her a costumer was here. She walked and smiled, “Hello there,” she said. She thought he was kind of handsome, the kind of costumer that might have gotten her attention if she was not so worried about Bright and Nico. She felt a slight flush come over her face. He was the kind of man that would get her attention because he looked a little like Bright. Not as handsome, because no one ever would be. She shook the thought away. “The usual?” He nodded in response, and she took his money, beginning to brew his Lady Killer Grey tea. Her crush on Bright was a thing of the past, left behind in favor of a deep, meaningful friendship, but Edrisa still had a type.

Edrisa looked away from the regular customer to the actual Bright as she heard him awkwardly descending the stairs. He was still limping slightly, but with a few days of Edria doing her best to convince him to rest it, he was getting around a lot better. It was impossible to make Bright sit still for long, regardless of how hurt he was. “Hey, handsome,” she said, then frowned. He had his coat on, the collar pulled up, ready for the cold. His expression was dark. “Where are you headed?”

“Edrisa, I know we’re understaffed…”

“Bright, you need the day, you take the day,” she interrupted. “But where…”

“I need to get back out there.”

“Gil said…”

“I’ll text him where I’m going,” Bright said, “But I should have been out there all along.”

“You couldn’t even walk.”

“Nico wouldn’t stop if I was missing. Not even for a second.”

She fell silent because she could see at once it was true. “If anyone can find him, it’s you,” she said, “You’re the smartest person I know.” Edrisa studied him, “What if you called that detective? The handsome one you have a crush on.” His eyes widened, and she raced to fill the silence before he could, “I mean if you do have a crush on him. If you don’t, I didn’t say anything.”

“I don’t…” Bright let the sentence die and sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I haven’t seen him since he brought me back.”

“He must be busy with the case. Who wouldn’t want to talk to you?” she said. She could not fathom why more people did not flock to her barista. He was the sunlight in her life every day.

Bright smiled at her, but it did not quite reach her eyes. “Maybe,” he said, “For now, I think I might be on my own.”

“Be careful,” she said pointlessly.

“Always,” he said, lying.

_-_-_

Bright walked along the dock, looking down at the phone in his hand. His finger hovered over the speed dial for Nico’s number for the millionth time. He called it, listening to it ring and go to voicemail. He heard Nico’s voice on the other end, closing his eyes as he listened to it.

He hung up without leaving another message. There were already too many there.

The barista headed down the bank, walking under the pier, his eyes tracing the shadows. He knew Nico came here to clear his head some times, had been coming here since he was a teenager. It was a long shot, but then, at this point when all the obvious places were exhausted, everything felt like a long shot.

He heard a sound and frowned, narrowing his eyes to try and see what he could make out in the shadows. A big shape, someone kneeling on the ground. Bright hesitated, then familiarity started to creep over him. “Detective?” JT turned, staring at him in the dark. Then the detective stood up, facing him, but did not immediately speak. “What are you doing here?”

“You wrote this address down,” JT said. There was something off in his tone. Was it off? Bright realized that he may not know the detective well enough to tell that yet, but some part of him just knew. Something was wrong. JT had been harsh with him, verbally aggressive at times. He had also been teasing sometimes, bantering in a way that felt a bit like they were making headway. This was something else entirely. JT sounded cold, and even though Bright did not know him well, he was sure with a confidence he could not explain that this was not a tone common for the detective.

“Did you find something?” Bright asked. He wanted to pull the detective into the light, somewhere he could hope to read the detective’s expression.

“No real leads,” JT said. “But, you know that, don’t you?”

Bright frowned, “What do you mean?”

JT did step forward now, and the shadow parted from him. Bright saw his face was expressionless, carved out of stone. “We haven’t gotten anywhere on the murder case. We also aren’t getting anywhere on Nico’s disappearance.” JT stepped forward again, enough that Bright had to tilt his head to look up at him. “We’ve been assuming the disappearance had to do with the murder because you suggested it might. We’ve been running down the leads you’ve given us.”

Bright’s eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”

“Maybe we’re getting nowhere because you never wanted us to.”

Bright took a step back, “You think I’m running you in circles.”  
“You are good at that.”

“What because I didn’t write my whole life story for you the minute we met?” Bright asked.

“Because you always leave out the most important parts. Maybe makes sense. You learned how to lie young.”

Malcolm took another step away, feeling like he had been struck. “How did you find out?”

“I’m a detective. I ran a background check.”

“You ran a check after telling me I wasn’t a suspect?” Bright said.

“You don’t have a right to be mad at me for lying, not after this.”

Bright shook his head furiously, “My past has nothing to do with Nico.”

“You sure about that?” He asked, “Serial killer father. You and Nico met in a traumatic way. You cut his arm off, and he still wants to be your friend?” JT said, “Sounds pretty fucked up. Twisted. So when I see he goes missing and every supposed lead you give us takes us nowhere…”

“Right,” Bright said, anger rising in his voice. “Why not blame the nearest person with the darkest past? It might take actual effort to find someone else.”

“Defensiveness. Pretty common response of the guilty.”

“Or the wrongfully accused,” Bright ran a hand through his hair. “You now what? Fuck you. I actually thought for a second you might be different, but you’re like every other fucking person who hears my name and decides you know exactly who I am.” He shook his head, “While you’re investigating me? My friend is out there, missing.” Bright felt rebellious tears sting his eyes, pain and anger making the words come out fast. “And I’m going to find him.”

“Yeah? Don’t take any trips out of the city.”

“I’m not,” Bright said, “I have a friend to find.”

He turned away, storming up the bank and back the way he came. It was too far to walk back to the café, but he did not slow down. He ignored the stinging pain in his ankle. It was nothing to the shrieking pain in his chest. The tears were coming now, whether he wanted them or not. He walked faster as if he could out pace the hurt.

_-_-_

JT got back to his car and opened the background check again, though he had it half memorized at this point. Malcolm Bright, born Malcolm Milton Whitly. The son of the Surgeon. He remembered the first day in the café, Dani pointing to the wall and saying that the Surgeon was not up there in their hall of horror memorabilia. He remembered the cringe of pain in the barista. JT felt stupid for forgetting about it until now. Bright changed the same time he went to get his doctorate in forensic psychology. Then he mysteriously dropped out around the same time he told JT he was going through a hard time. There was no record of hospital visits, but JT was no fool. If you were rich enough, those things could be made discrete. Later, the car wreck was on file, though there was nothing about Bright being the one to chop off Nico’s arm.

JT threw the file back on the seat. It was not a common story, but when you broke it down to its base components, it was not so different from the kind of things he saw too often. A rich entitled kid, an inheritance of wealth and violence. He had every chance in the world, but could not make them stick. He clearly was suffering from mental problems. When his life was at its lowest, he met a weaker personality in Nico. Nico becomes dependent on Bright. Living in his apartment, working in the café in the building Bright’s family owned.

Now Nico was missing.

JT shook his head. It was a dark story, almost impossible to shine in a different light. The detective started the car, not really caring where he drove. He had not told Gil about his suspicions. The man seemed to be completely under Bright’s spell. Dani was resistant to the conversation too, throwing up her hands and insisting she would not go down this path with him until he talked to the Lieutenant. No, if JT was going to run down this lead, he was doing it alone. At least until he had any evidence to support his thoughts.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened. It hurt. Opening that file, and the dark, twisty thoughts that came with it. He felt a stab directly into his heart. It felt suspiciously like betrayal JT shook his head. That made no sense. Bright was nothing to him, so how could he feel betrayed?

_-_-_

Bright stopped by the light pole outside the café to see Nico’s face, printed on a sheet of paper with bright red words reading Missing. The instructions suggested calling or stopping by the coffee shop with any information. He headed into the café, glancing at his friend behind the counter. “You hung posters.”

Edrisa nodded, she stopped and leaned on the desk. “I’ve been asking our regulars to put them up all over. Ed-spresso Gein lady took some to put up at her church, and Lady Killer Grey tea guy even took one.” Edrisa had a way of referring to regulars by their drink orders if they were not inclined to share their names. She reached out her hand, and Bright came over, taking it. “You were right, Bright. He’s been gone too long.” Malcolm nodded slowly.

“I think he really is,” he agreed.

“Nico just doesn’t seem like the kind of person who could just go missing,” Edrisa said, “I know…I know the statistics and the facts. The faces of missing people even. I know that it doesn’t make sense, and it is not true.” Tears sprung up in her eyes, “But he’s so…full of life and…how could that just disappear?”

Bright opened his arms and let her fall into them, holding her as she cried.

_-_-_

They were cleaning up, Bright wiping down tables while Edrisa swept. Outside, the world was dark, and the last Wine and Crime book club member had left ten minutes before. Usually, regular clubs like that were the kind of thing that made Edrisa light up, but for once, she matched the dark aesthetic of her coffee shop.

“Where did you look today?” she asked, her voice sudden in the silence. “You went out looking right?” she stopped her work to look at him. “I never asked…”

Bright felt something cold curl up in his gut. “The docks,” he said. Bright felt Edrisa’s eyes on his face, but he could not bring himself to meet her gaze.

“Did you find anything?”

“That detective was there.”

Edrisa put the broom down entirely, walking over to stand near him. “The one you like?”

“I don’t…” Bright let the words die, looking up at her. “Not anymore.” Her eyes were full of questions. “He figured out who I am.”

Edrisa looked shocked first, then shook her head. “No,” she said, “If he found out who you are, he would have found out you are brilliant, caring, passionate, and radiant.” She touched his arm. “He just found out who you’re related to.”

“Yeah, and now I’m suspect number one in his book.”  
“He thinks you hurt Nico?” she gasped, and Bright saw in her eyes that the thought was so far from possible in her mind as to be inconceivable. “Why?”

“My father didn’t have a why,” Bright said, “Maybe I don’t either.” Edrisa’s eyes flashed angry.

“That bastard.” She looked at him, “Did he hurt you?”

Yes, Bright realized. He had. Hurt him worse than someone he had known such a short time should have been able to. “No,” he answered, but maybe it was his tone that gave him away because Edrisa grabbed him in a hug.

“I know who you are,” she said, “Not who you are related to, but who you actually are. I see you, Bright.”

“Thanks, Edrisa,” he said softly. He let her go slowly and stepped back. “It’s getting late.”

“Do you want me to stay?” she asked.

He shook his head, “Nah, I’ll close behind you and go get some rest.”

“Now I know you’re lying,” Edrisa replied.

Bright gave her a soft, meaningless smile. “Maybe. I just need time to think.”

“Don’t get lost up there, okay, Bright?” she said, squeezing his arm gently. She put away the broom, getting her stuff together to leave. When she was gone, Bright took a seat in the empty café. At night, the shadowy room looked even creepier. He closed his eyes. This was his escape, his place that felt safe, but not when Nico’s face was on a missing poster on the door.

He lost track of how long he sat there before he finally rose. He grabbed the trash bag and carried it outside, slowly limping to the dumpster.

“Hey,” a voice said. He turned, startled, locating its origin as a man standing at the end of the alley. “You work at the coffee shop?”

“We’re closed.”

The man held up a sheet of paper. Bright knew at once it was a missing poster. “You all hung these around?”

Bright took a step toward him. “You know something about Nico?” Bright felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. A sound over his shoulder. He turned slightly, seeing another man entering the other side of the alley. “What is this?”

“Where’s Nico Stavros?” the first man asked, stepping toward Bright.

“If I knew that, why would I hang missing posters?”

“Maybe you want us to think he’s missing,” the man said, another step closer. There was no way past them. The only thing he had on his side was the ability to surprise. He threw the trash bag at the first man, and ran right behind it, trying to dodge around. The man body-slammed him into the wall. The other was there at the same moment, twisting his arm and shoving him against the wall again. Stars burst in front of Bright’s eyes. The man released him, and Bright collapsed, hitting the garbage pile on the ground. Suddenly a boot caught him in the gut. Again.

Again.

Again.

_-_-_

JT went for a walk. After driving to the precinct and accomplishing almost nothing for the rest of the day, and after Gil told him to go home because it was clear his mind was elsewhere, he did not know what else to do. He had to get out, had to move. The argument with Bright played over and over again in his head. Maybe that was why his feet brought him down this road. He knew that the café was within walking distance of his apartment, but he had never made the walk himself. Until that night. He saw a light still on in the café window from a distance, but he knew it had to be closed by this hour. Bright or Edrisa were probably just inside cleaning.

And it was not like he wanted to see the barista again anyway. Did he?

JT felt frustration growing in his gut, he turned, getting ready to leave when he heard glass shatter. He looked up. It did not come from the café, but near it. He took a step closer, then he heard a cry of pain and a loud series of sounds. He had been on the force long enough to know a fight when he heard one. JT took off at a sprint, coming to the mouth of the alley in time to see two big, burly men kicking a crumpled body on the ground. He would bet any amount of money he knew exactly who the man was.

“Hey,” JT said, reaching for his gun before realizing he was off duty. He cursed, running toward the alley.


	6. David Breve-witz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back, folks!! I just officially finished writing the 10th and final chapter of Ripper Street this week! I am so excited for you all to read the story ahead.
> 
> As always, connect with me on twitter @themythofpsyche, on tumblr @literati42 and now you can connect with me on tiktok @profchrisagent
> 
> Come back next Sunday for chapter 7!

JT ran toward the alley, no weapon to draw on. He barrelled his shoulder into one of the men. The man bounced off the brick wall, and before he could recover, JT sent a fist into the other man’s face. The attackers scattered, each runninga different direction. JT started to follow, but froze, looking down at the body on the floor. In the light, he could not see the extent of his injuries. “Bright?” he asked.

A hand grabbed his ankle, the knuckles bloody. “Detective?” he said, confused. JT let the men go, kneeling down.

“What’s the damage, kid?” he asked.

“M’fine,” he said, but JT knew already that Bright would say that even if he had a knife in his gut.

“Yeah, I bet. Let’s get you inside and see.” He got a handful of Bright’s arm, and for the second time in their short acquaintanceship, he practically carried Brght into the café. “Does this shit happen to you often?”

“Mm. More or less,” Bright admitted.

JT shook his head, he managed to wrangle the barista with little help from the man himself and got him to one of the couches. JT whistled. In the light of the café, he could make out the bruise forming on Bright’s cheekbone and the blood from his split lip.

“How bad is the damage I can’t see?”

Bright pressed his hand against his side, cringing violently. JT sighed, kneeling in front of him. He looked up into Bright’s eyes for permission. The barista gave him one, quick nod, and looked away. JT pulled up the shirt, hissing as he saw the row of bruises splayed across his torso. “Damn.”  
“I could have handled it,” Bright said, eyes still closed in pain. “If my ankle wasn’t hurt.”

“Really,” JT asked, looking up at his face. Bright opened his eyes as if he had to peel them up.

“I used to do martial arts, but…gave it up for the dancing.”

“Didn’t get far enough for them to teach you the crane kick on an injured leg trick, huh?”

Bright smirked around the split lip, “No, not quite that far.”

“I need to call an ambulance.” JT stood, but Bright caught his wrist.

“No, I don’t…I don’t need a hospital.”

JT’s eyebrows rose, “No offense, you look like shit.”

“I’m not going to the hospital.”

JT studied him, the stubborn set of his jaw. He sighed and pulled his phone, shooting off a text. “Fine, but I texted Gil.”

Bright nodded, either in acceptance of because he did not have the strength to fight back. He laid his head on the couch.

“Who were they?”

The barista answered without opening his eyes, “They were looking for Nico.” He did sit up then, anger pushing everything else out of his eyes. “And I didn’t hire them to attack me, for the record.”

JT sighed, letting that one go. “Yeah, did they say anything?”  
Bright looked at the floor, “They said…tell Nico he can’t hide forever.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“For the last fucking time, no,” Bright said. He sighed deeply, letting his head fall into his hand. He looked so hurt and small. JT could not fight with him like this. He sighed. JT did not know when this weird-ass barista became his problem, but it seemed like in a short amount of time, Bright had become the center of all his troubles. He wanted to shake the man and demand to know the truth. He wanted to grab him, force him to stay out of danger and out of the way of their investigation.

He wanted to keep him safe.

The last thought bounced off JT’s mind, and the detective felt dumbstruck by it. Gil needed to get here now so he could pass Bright off to the older detective and leave. Bright interrupted his thoughts with a groan, pitching forward on the couch. The detective kneeled down, catching him from falling off. “What?”

“Dizzy…” Bright managed.

JT cursed, “That’s it. I’m calling the bus.” He started to stand, but Bright caught his arm.

“Please, just stay.”

He sounded weak, pathetic. JT sighed, kneeling back down. “You probably have a concussion.”

“You don’t actually care,” Bright said, the accusation coming out more petty than angry. “I’m just a serial killer’s son.”

“Not just,” JT replied, “You’re also a murder obsessed, shady as hell, secret-keeping, crazy-ass who can’t keep himself out of harm's way.” The detective sighed. In JT’s mind, it seemed so obvious that if Bright was not involved in this, he was probably involved in something. But it was much harder to believe the worst of him when he was right here, literally holding onto JT’s arm like a lifeline. “If you’re innocent, why do you act so guilty?”

“I don’t,” Bright said, “I’m just me and people don’t like it.” His tone told JT this was the actual truth, stripped back and bare. The detective almost felt bad. He knew whatever was wrong with Malcolm Bright was making him a bit more open than usual, but he also knew he may never have a chance to get this kind of raw honesty out of the man. So he sat on the floor beside the couch because it was as far away as Bright was letting him get.

“Yeah? Seems like your coffee shop people like you.”  
“I thought you assumed I was manipulating Nico as part of some master scheme?” Bright replied. His eyes were closed again, but so far, he sounded lucid. “No, they do. But they’re it. Them and Gil. I don’t have other friends.”

“Family?”

“You mean, do I keep in touch with my serial killer father? No.”

“Your mother that owns the building?”

“Yes,” Bright said, “I have a sister too. We…haven’t spoken in a year.”

“Around the same time as the accident with Nico?” JT asked.

The barista did not answer, but slumped against the couch more and groaned.

“Dizzy?”

“A little. Just…don’t…don’t leave.”

“Why not?” JT asked, he was starting to feel a stir of worry. This did not seem good at all. He would need to pull out of the barista’s grasp and get that ambulance on the way if Gil did not arrive soon.

“Because detective, despite the fact that all you have done is pry into my life and accuse me of escalating levels of wild crimes…you make me feel safe.” He laughed bitterly, “How is that for fucked up?”

JT did not know how to characterize the emotion he felt at the words. He realized that even though he still believed there was so much that was not right with Malcolm Bright, he was bone-deep moved by the words. He wanted more than anything to make this man feel safe.

And he had no idea why.

“Yeah, pretty fucked up,” he agreed, but his tone was softer than it had been.

“I know,” Bright said, “And I have no idea why. It’s completely illogical. You’re going to hurt me…and yet I trust you.”

JT frowned, “Why do you think I’m going to hurt you?”

Bright cracked his eyes open, “Because that’s all you have done.”

The detective flinched, feeling angry, though at that moment he could not decide which of them he was angry at. “You shouldn’t let people you just met have that kind of power over you.”

The most unexpected thing happened. Bright burst out laughing. He sat up slowly, pitching slightly from dizziness and moved his hand up to JT’s shoulder. The laughing just continued. Just like after their argument in the car, JT realized he loved being the reason for that laugh. “What the hell are you laughing about?”

“You…you…” he gasped out through his laughter, “Are lecturing me about…trusting…you!”

JT smirked despite himself, a small breath of laughter escaping him. “Yes…”

The door swung open, breaking the moment and letting Gil and a crew of EMTs in.

Bright frowned up at JT, who shrugged, “Guess Gil called them.” The lieutenant ran to them, his eyes scanning over Bright’s injuries. It was a whirlwind then. Gil’s questions about what happened, the EMT’s questions about what he hurt. Then the EMT and Gil agreeing that yes, he was visiting the hospital. Then they were leaving, even as Malcolm still protested. JT watched Gil get into the ambulance and leave with them.

He only hesitated a second before following in his own car.

_-_-_

Gil was in the waiting room when JT arrived, he glanced up and his brow furrowed in confusion. “I assumed you would head home.”

JT nodded, but offered no answer. An explanation would require he have one.

“Were you there when it happened?” Gil asked.

“I arrived during the attack,” JT explained. He ran a hand over his face. “Two men, from what I could tell, they cornered Bright in the alley outside the shop when he was closing up. He said they were looking for Nico. I got there and ran them off. I didn’t get a look at either of them.”

Gil nodded, then frowned, “Why did you arrive there?” There was something in the older detective’s eyes that JT could not interpret.

“I was going for a walk. The shop is just down the street from my place. I walk that way sometimes,” he said, shrugging his shoulder. Gil did not seem to just take the answer, his eyes studying JT, but he said no more about it. The older detective just sighed, taking a seat in one of the waiting room chairs.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been here waiting to see if he was okay.”

JT took the seat beside his mentor, studying him in profile. “I saw the scars.”

Gil looked up, surprised. “He let you see his scars?”

“No…I don’t think he meant for me to.”

The older detective gave a tired nod. “Yeah, that was the worst time, not the only time.” He let out a breath, “Caring about someone whose only trait more concerning than his low sense of self-preservation is his impossibly high sense of responsibility to save others is…”

“Exhausting? Frustrating?” JT offered. Gil gave him that look again, like he was figuring something out, though JT was not certain what that could possibly be.

“You sound like you care about him already,” Gil said.

Oh. JT straightened slightly in the chair. “Just guessing.”

Gil gave a hmm that sounded like disbelief, but again he let it drop. That was Gil. JT had the sense he saw through him all the time, but he rarely pushed. He always just said enough to give JT an in if JT wanted to take it, then let it go. It was one of the reasons he gained JT’s trust so much quicker than most people ever could.

They waited in silence until the doctor came out, saying that Bright was asking for them.

_-_-_

“Wait…he doesn’t have a concussion?” JT said, blinking at the doctor in confusion. They stood in Bright’s hospital room, the man in question looking woozy as he sat on the bed.

“No, he has quite a bruise, but fortunately, no concussion.”

JT stared at the woman for a moment more then looked at Bright, “I thought you said you were disoriented.”

“I said I was dizzy,” Bright said.

“If you weren’t disoriented, why were you being so honest?”

“Because I was angry!” Bright replied. He paused, raising a hand, “Wait, did you ask me all those questions because you thought I would tell you the truth since I was disoriented from a concussion? You took advantage of my injuries!”  
“Apparently not, you don’t even have a concussion!” JT replied.

Gil held up his hand to curtail any further arguments. “Doctor, why is he dizzy?”

The doctor turned to Bright then. “Have you eaten today…at all?”

Bright blinked at her, then his eyes went up to the ceiling, and JT realized the barista did not know the answer. At all.

The doctor nodded knowingly, “I think you had incredibly low blood sugar, and that on top of the stress from being attacked…your body was overtaxed.”

“Am I alright to go?” he asked.

The doctor sighed, signing some papers and handing it to him. “I prescribed you something for the pain. You can leave, Mr. Bright, if you promise not to drive and promise you will immediately go eat something.”  
“He agrees,” Gil said for him.

JT walked out of the room, letting them sort through whatever details remained. He shook his head. Then he shook it again, but his mind did not feel more clear. Bright came out, leaning on Gil’s arm to keep him steady. He looked up, and JT saw surprise in those blue eyes.

“I thought you would have left.”

JT turned quick enough that he saw Bright flinch in surprise. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He said, “Why the hell didn’t you eat anything today?”

Bright’s brow furrowed, which seemed to hurt because he immediately cringed. “I…was distracted. By you, Detective.”

Gil looked between them, “By him?”

“Yes,” Bright said, and JT knew what was about to happen. Bright would tell the lieutenant that JT went rogue on the investigation, treating the boss’s kid like he was a suspect without even running it by Gil once. He would probably inform Gil about the unauthorized background check, and JT had no defense. Not for any of it. Because standing here faced with Gil holding up the injured Bright, he realized he had no scrap of evidence for why he could not leave the barista alone. Not one scrap. “He called to check on how I’m doing with Nico being missing.” JT blinked, shook his head again. He could not have heard that right, but he watched the anger bleed out of Gil. The detective clapped JT on the back.

“Thank you,” he said.

JT stammered something incoherent in response, “Can…we speak a moment before you take him home?” he said. Gil frowned in confusion and looked at Bright. The barista gave a nod.

“Alright…” Gil let go of Malcolm’s arm but held his hands there a moment to see if the barista would fall. Bright leaned back on the wall and nodded he was okay. They communicated so seamlessly without words. Like family, JT thought, or like soldiers in the field. Gil slowly stepped away, giving them a moment.

“You could have messed with my career…at least gotten him angry with me,” JT said. “Why didn’t you?”

Bright sighed, “Dammit, Detective. Am I really so opaque?” Before JT could answer, the barista went on, “Why do you care that I didn’t eat today? Why do you keep coming around? Why, especially since you knew Gil didn’t want you investigating me, did you keep after this? Why come to the dance studio? Why do you care, Detective?”

And JT answered honestly. “I don’t know.”

Bright nodded slowly, “Maybe…that’s a mystery you should be figuring out.” Bright straightened up, waving Gil back over. He started limping, dizzily toward him. Gil met him halfway, taking his arm. “Come on Gil, I’ll make us a David Breve-witz.”

“Not at this hour you won’t,” Gil said fondly. Then the older detective nodded to JT, but Bright did not look back. Detective JT Tarmel watched Malcolm Bright leave until he was standing alone in the hospital room with only his questions.


	7. Caroll Cole-tado

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New week, new chapter! I am so excited! Things with the mystery are really amping up this chapter. I hope you all enjoy.
> 
> As always follow me on twitter @themythofpsyche, on tumblr @literati42, and on tiktok @profchrisagent 
> 
> I am working on a new about me post, so that will be up soon. In the meantime, if you want to find out how to support my writing, leave a way to contact you in the comment, or reach out to me on one of the above sources.
> 
> So much love to everyone, but especially the incredibly supportive CornerofMadness, the people on the Prodigal Son trash discord who cheered me on to finish this story, and my Brimel discord friends!

Bright managed to rest under Gil’s watchful eye that night after the detective forced him to eat a bowl of soup. It was hard to get the man to leave, but finally, with a promise that he would spend the day resting, and then a second promise that he would let Edrisa check in on him, Gil left for the office. Bright was not even lying this time. The injuries tugged him into sleep, and even if he woke up repeatedly, some rest occurred between nightmares.

It was disorienting, spending a night and half the next day flitting in and out of sleep, even if Edrisa’s regular interruptions to bring him food gave some shape to the passing time. But by the time darkness crept over the New York skyline outside his window again, he could rest no longer. Bright drug himself out of bed. He lifted his phone to his ear and dialed the number.

“Mal?”

Bright’s heart stopped as the one word carried through the phone to him. “Nic…” he barely got out. Nico. Nico alive. Nico answering his call. “Nico?”

“Mal, I’m alright,” he said, but his voice did not sound alright at all. “I’m safe.”

“Bullshit,” Bright replied, “Men came here looking for you, and I don’t think they wanted to order coffee.”  
“I know,” Nico said, “That’s why I’m reaching out. Bright…you cannot call me again. You have to stop looking for me. Do you understand?”

“Nic, what have you gotten into?” Bright said, “Whatever it is, I can help you.”

“You’re not invincible, Mal, no matter what you think. I won’t let you die for me.”

Bright’s heart seemed stuck in his throat, “You can’t protect me, Nico. You know I’m not going to stop looking. So keeping me in the dark isn’t protecting me.”  
“You have no idea,” Nico said, he heard a deep sigh.

“What about Gil? His team? They’ll protect you, Nico. They can help.”

A cold laugh, so unlike his friend, sounded on the other end. “The police? That’s a joke,” he said, “Mal. You can’t trust them.”

“What?”

“Gil you can trust, I don’t mean Gil,” Nico sighed, “But Malcolm, you can’t trust any of the others. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Are you telling me there’s a dirty cop?” Bright leaned forward on the edge of the bed. “Nic? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Stay away from this case, and stay away from the precinct. Promise me.”

“I won’t. I won’t stop looking.”

He heard Nico curse. “I love you, Mal.”

Three beeps told him the call dropped. Bright immediately called back, and it went straight to voicemail. Bright threw his phone, punting it toward the floor.

_-_-_

“This is pointless,” JT said, shutting the file as aggressively as possible, wishing a file was the kind of thing one could slam. It would feel terrific to slam something right then.

“We are getting less than nowhere,” Dani agreed from where she sat cross-legged on the conference room table. She leaned her hands on the table, tipping her head back with a sigh.

“How is it possible that we know less than we did when this started?” JT asked. “It feels like someone is running us in circles.”

“We’re not going down the Malcolm Bright is an evil mastermind who is purposefully obscuring this investigation path again, are we?” Dani asked, “Because I have to be honest, I can’t handle more of your obvious denial today.”

“My…obvious denial?” he asked.

Dani sat up straight, raising her eyebrow as she looked at him. “That, that is what I don’t have energy for.”

“Dani…”

“Either you’re obsessed with him because you think he’s guilty,” Dani said, and she held up a finger, “Which I don’t really think you are. Or…”

“Or?” he said.

“Or…” She lowered her legs to the floor, sitting forward and staring directly into his eyes. “JT.” She hummed her disagreement. “No. No, not today.” She got up.

“Dani, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
She raised her hand to wave this off as she walked out of the room.

JT sighed deeply. He did not want even to begin thinking about the meaning behind any moment of that conversation. His phone went off, stopping further unwanted thoughts. He frowned down at it as he saw an unknown number. The detective almost sent it to voicemail, it was most likely phishing call trying to get his information with a promise of a free cruise, but he hesitated. He clicked the green button and lifted it to his ear. “Bright?” he said into the phone.

“Did you get my number from Gil?” the barista said. The small victory of being the one to catch Bright off guard for once brought a smile to JT’s face.

“Just an amazing detective,” he said.

“Huh,” Bright replied. “So, Edrisa has me benched, and Gil has threatened me to an inch of my life if I go searching for Nico alone in my state.”

“Seems reasonable,” JT replied.

“So, I’m not going alone. We’re going together.”

“What? Bright I have a job and no desire to spend my day with you,” JT said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I think we both know that’s not true, anyway, I’m going to hang up and wait for you outside the café. That should give you plenty of time to come up with your witty comeback. Hurry up, so I don’t freeze to death.”

“Bright…”

The barista hung up.

_-_-_

JT pulled up outside the café, where Bright sat bundled in a way too fancy coat and scarf. He looked good, if it was not for the dark bruise under his eye. JT shook his head, wondering if he had really just thought that Bright looked good? He rolled down his window as he pulled up to the curb.

“Did you come up with a comeback?” Bright asked, “Oh, and I brought coffee.” He held up two thermoses. JT could see his hands shaking, and from the color of them, he would guess it was from the cold.

“You really did wait outside?”

“Not your best comeback, could use work,” Bright said, he motioned, “Door?”

JT sighed and leaned across the passenger seat, opening the door. The barista got in before he could move back away, and Bright’s nose nearly collided with his. JT jerked back.

“How are you this clumsy? You’re a dancer.”

“An injured dancer,” Bright said, offering him a thermos, “And anyway, I’m not clumsy. Just accident prone.”

“How are those different…you know what, never mind.” JT rolled up the window and started out. “Buckle up. Your accident-prone nature might extend to the car.”

“Ha,” Bright said, “See, much better than what you led with. You are a spur of the moment banter writer, more an off the cuff kind of guy.”

“Where are we going?” JT asked, taking a sip of the coffee. His mouth was expecting a nice, normal dark roast. He realized the minute the flavors burst across his tongue that this was a foolish mistake. There was absolutely nothing normal about any interaction he had with this barista, why would the coffee be? “What is this?”

“It’s the Caroll Cole-tado,” Bright explained.

“I don’t know what coffee that is referencing or what serial killer.” Only when he looked over to see a huge smile on Bright’s face did he realize his mistake.

“Well…”

“No.”

“Carroll Cole strangled sixteen people in California, Nevada, and Texas between 1948 and 1980.”

“How ambitious,” JT said, dryly.

“He was actually caught at the scene of the crime, but they didn’t even realize it was a murder, so the police were going to let him go. But…”

“An annoying barista kept after the detective until they arrested him?”

Bright sent him an amused smile, “He confessed.”

“Hmm,” JT said, “And the coffee…”

“A cortado, an espresso-based coffee that is nearly equal parts steamed milk.”

If the detective did not want to admit that both of those things had actually been interesting, he definitely wanted even less to admit how much he liked hearing Bright’s voice when he was excited. “Are we going to continue driving pointlessly, or are you going to take a breath and tell me where we’re going?” JT asked.

“Well, we have a number of potential stops,” Bright said. “First, we’re going back to every place you originally checked out.”

“Why, they are all closed during the day?”

Bright continued as if he had not spoken, “And then we are going one new place, but that doesn’t matter right now.”

“Are you going to explain any of this?”

The barista looked over at him. “No.”

“Then why should I do it?”

“You don’t have to.” Bright looked at him, “You can let me out right here, or drive back to the café. You won’t have lost more than a few minutes.”

JT stared at him for a moment before focusing back on the road. “I should.”

“Probably.” Bright turned to meet his eyes again, “But you aren’t going to.”

“Right, because of the mystery I haven’t figured out?”

“Did you figure it out, Detective?”

“You think you’re incredibly smart.”

“I am incredibly smart, but that really isn’t what’s happening here.”

JT shook his head, pulling over to the side of the road. He looked at the barista, wanting to wipe that completely assured look off Bright’s face, only to find his expression had not changed. “Okay, I have one question for you.”

“As usual.”

“Why didn’t you call Gil?”

“Gil would have said no.”

JT shook his head, frustrated. “No, why did you call me and not someone else?” He stared directly into Bright’s blue eyes. “After everything that’s happened, why would you want to be around me?”

“I thought we established this,” Bright said, “I’m a massive masochist.” He put his hand on the door. “This my stop?”

JT sighed and pulled away from the curb. “So, we’re going to the same bars?”

“Yes.”  
“And there’s a reason we’re doing this?”

“Yes.”

“And you won’t tell me.”

“You have summarized the situation perfectly,” Bright replied. JT sighed, driving toward the first bar on Bright’s list.

“So, can I ask a question.”

“You’re asking now?” he replied, but his tone lost the edge when he answered, “Go ahead.”

“Forensic psychology…”

“Oh, so we’re talking about that background check now?”

JT ignored him. “You were almost a doctor.”

He saw Bright flinch out of the corner of his eye, “I almost had a Ph.D. I don’t like the term doctor anywhere near my name.”

JT looked over at him, then the case file floated back into his mind. The Surgeon. Dr. Whitly. “Right,” he said. “So, you almost had a Ph.D.”

“Four-fifths of one,” Bright said.

“And you dropped out?”

Bright nodded slowly. “I almost went to Quantico.”

“You? A fed?”

“I applied and everything.”  
“Didn’t get in.”

“No, I did,” Bright said, he sunk down, into the seat a bit. “It was the interview…I realized they were never going to stop seeing me as my father’s son. Nothing I could do would ever change that.” He looked over at JT. “So I rejected their offer, changed my name, and went on to my master’s in forensic psychology.”

“Then a doctorate, almost,” JT said. He glanced over again, “What happened that time?”

“I was on track. Up until a year ago, I was set to get my dissertation finished, graduate. The works.” Bright was quiet a moment, and for once, JT let the silence settle there between them. Slowly, he heard Bright take in a breath, and start. “If I kept going, I would be dead.” He shook his head as if shaking off the thoughts and sat up. “You know, you keep saying I’m holding things back, but I keep telling you all about me. I don’t know anything about you. I don’t even know your actual name.”

“And you never will.”

“Right, but I’m the withholding one in this relationship,” Bright said. JT snapped his eyes to him then back to the road. “This…dynamic,” the barista clarified. “Fine, I’ll just guess.” Bright turned in his seat so much that JT found himself looking over just to make sure Bright was still buckled in. “You aren’t originally from the city. You don’t carry yourself like a local. No, I think…a small town.” He paused, “And you’re father’s in the military.”

“You’re wrong,” JT replied. Then slowly, he gave the slightest smirk, “My _mother_ was in the military.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bright’s face light up in a smile, and then—to JT it seemed—the barista snuggled into the seat to listen. “And we lived all types of places. Cities and bases, but yes, there was a few small towns. Now my mom is retired, she and Dad live in a small town outside of Oklahoma City. My dad teaches high school history.” JT looked over, “That’s all you get.”

“I’ll take it,” Bright said. JT pulled up outside the first bar, a shady place called Twisted Spencer’s, and just like last time, it was closed. Bright got out, making his way over to the grate that covered the door. He grabbed it and began rattling it.

“What the hell man?” JT asked, rushing to his side.

“Hey!” Bright called out, looking up at the building. “Hello? Anyone there? Hey! We’re looking for Nico!”

JT grabbed Bright’s arm and pried it from the grating. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Investigating,” Bright said.

“By drawing attention to yourself?”

“Just trying to get answers,” Bright said, pulling free and banging on the grating again. “Anyone! Anyone at all know anything about Nico!”

He stopped, tilting his head to listen. JT sighed, listening too. Nothing. Nothing at all.

Bright sighed, “Okay, next bar.” He turned and got back in the car. JT followed a step slower. This time, when they drove a few minutes down the road, they pulled up to the Livery. This bar was closed as well, but because of the neighborhood, there were more people on the street. Bright spilled out of the car, going toward a man who was easily three times his size. “Have you seen this man?” Bright asked him, “His name I Nico? Have you seen him?” The man walked away without even looking at Bright. The barista began scanning the crowd. JT came over.

“Bright,” he said, his voice a low growl.

“Not now,” Bright replied, “Hey!” he called to three men leaning on a nearby wall. “Have any of you seen Nico? Nico Stavros?”

JT walked over then and grabbed Bright’s arm, jerking him away from the men. “Sorry, my friend is off his meds.” He started dragging Bright back to the car.

“Let go,” Bright said, then he yelled, “Has anyone at all seen Nico Stavros?”

JT did not let up until they were standing beside the car. He pushed Bright against it, but even in his anger, he was careful not to upset any of the injuries. “What…the…hell are you doing?”

“I told you,” Bright said.

“Yeah, you lied,” JT said, his eyes flashing. He put his hands on the car to either side of Bright, to keep him from running back off. “You think I’m an idiot? You are trying to get someone’s attention. So explain. Now, before I haul you into the precinct for obstructing justice.”

Bright looked up at him, “Nico called me.”  
“What?” JT said.

“He told me to stop investigating. To stay away from this,” Bright said, “So…I knew I was getting close.”

“And you thought, show up at all the places Nico’s been? And what? Smoke out the people who attacked you?” JT saw the look cross his face, “Dammit, Bright, that’s exactly what you thought. You came down here to…try and get jumped again?” JT looked up as the realization fully settled over him. “You’re using yourself as bait.”

“I brought you as backup, didn’t I?”

JT slammed his hand against the car beside him, and Bright jumped in surprise. “Dammit. What the hell is wrong with you? You are already hurt, you want to add dead to the pile?” JT was breathing fast, fury rolling through him. He leaned into the barista’s air space. “And you what? Wanted me to watch you die?”

Bright’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes wide and his breath unsteady. “I…why…why would that matter?”

JT realized it then, how close they were. How he was in Bright’s space, breathing his air. How he smelled of coffee grounds and sandal wood. JT leaned a bit closer. He could hear Bright’s breath quickening. There was something electric in the air around them. He felt aware of Bright in a way he had no words for. If he leaned any closer…

JT pulled back, slamming his hand against the car. “I won’t watch you die.” He walked to the car, getting in and slamming the door shut. Leaving Bright leaned against his door, breathing hard. JT buried his face in his hands.

It was a moment before Bright opened the door and got in too, his eyes firmly looking anywhere but JT. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” JT asked, watching him. “Because you don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust anybody,” Bright said, waving his hand dismissively, “Massive trust issues because of the whole, my father lied to the world and murdered at least 23 people thing. No, that’s not the reason.” JT looked over at him. “After everything, it was your turn to trust me. I wanted to know if you would.”

“And I came,” JT said, his voice quiet.

“And you came,” Bright replied, matching his tone.

JT looked forward, staring out the windshield. “I’m not letting you shakedown any more bystanders,” he said. “We need a better play.”

“Yeah? What exactly? You have no leads.”

JT grunted in annoyance. “Nothing, we’re spinning our wheels on both cases.” He paused, looking over at the barista. “Which is why I said it seemed like someone was running us in circles.”

“You mean why you said I was running you in circles,” Bright replied. JT shook his head.

“Look, you’re acting too stupid about this for you to be guilty.”

“Thank you,” Bright said, his tone deadpan.

“But that doesn’t mean someone isn’t,” JT said. There was something off about Bright’s expression that JT could not quite place. He seemed to be waiting for something. “Bright, was anything missing from your apartment when Nico left?”

Bright frowned, “No, not that I’ve noticed. Do you think someone broke in? Because Edrisa and I are usually downstairs, they would have to be pretty talented…”

JT shook his head, “You aren’t going to like this theory.”

“Less than when you accused me?”

“Probably,” JT replied, “Bright, is there a chance Nico is playing you?” The barista’s face closed off immediately.

“First me, now Nico? Who are you accusing next? Edrisa? Maybe she did it to add a new true crime to the coffee shop? Something for the regulars to solve.”

“There’s just…something off with the story,” JT said.

“By the story, you mean?”

“The wreck…and how everything is fine with the two of you now. And then he goes missing, and out of nowhere calls to get you off the case?” JT looked at him, “If you were an outside person, you wouldn’t have questions?”

Bright shook his head. “I’m not an outside person, and I do know Nico. He is so completely without guile,” Bright shook his head.

“Yeah.” JT studied him, “You’ve never doubted him.”

Bright let out a breath, “I doubt everyone,” he said it quietly.

“And…”  
“How could he care about someone like me, right?” Bright looked up. JT felt his heart clench.

“That’s not what…”

“No, believe me. I’ve asked myself plenty of times.” Bright shook his head, “But I know one thing. He wouldn’t do this. Not this. Not Nico.” JT watched the barista stare out the window silently. “JT….you said it seems like someone is stalling the investigation.” He finally turned back. “I think I know who. Not exactly who, but generally who.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“We can skip the bars, let’s head to the precinct instead.”


	8. Richard Red-eye-rez

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are rounding the final corner on this story!
> 
> As always, come visit me on twitter @themythofpsyche, on tumblr @literati42, and on tiktok @profchrisagent

As JT drove, Bright went silent. It was almost eerie, JT realized, for the other man not to be talking. He checked a couple of times to make sure he was awake, but Bright just sat there, staring out the window. The detective wondered if he should say something, but how do you apologize for ripping holes in someone’s insecurity?

“We’re going past the café,” JT said because he needed something to throw into the silence. “You could get food.”

“Edrisa made sure I ate,” he replied.

JT sighed, “Look, bro…I didn’t….I wasn’t…”

“I know. You’re investigating, and you’re frustrated,” Bright said, “Besides, you’re not the first person to doubt Nico and my relationship. The truth is, JT, he did hate me at first. But I…” his words seemed to stall and stumble for a second, “I don’t think he still does.” JT glanced over at him as he spoke. “But, I know he wouldn’t do this. He worked too hard to fight against every bad thing that happened to him to throw it away like this. Besides, he didn’t call me to get me off the case. He called me to keep me safe.”

“Can I ask you another…” JT searched for the word, “Hard question.”

“Why not?” Bright said.

“Is there anyone you don’t doubt?”

Bright tilted his head to the side. “Gil,” he said without hesitation.

“Just Gil?”

“Yes,” he replied, “Let me remind you again of my massive trust issues.” He looked over at JT. “Who do you never doubt?”

JT glanced at him. “Gil. And Dani.”

“Ah, you one up me, congratulations,” a slight smile came over Bright’s lips as he spoke. It was wild, JT realized. He could not stop fighting with Bright. Could not stop pushing him a little too hard, a little too far, but somehow after a few minutes, they always found their way back to this. He realized he liked it, this feeling. The idea that he could still get a smile or a laugh out of Bright even when the barista was angry with him.

“So, why are we going to the precinct?”

“Because of the other thing Nico told me,” Bright said, he tapped his long fingers against his knee as he talked and JT found himself getting distracted by it. “That no cop, but Gil can be trusted.”

JT’s eyes immediately went back to his face. “What?”

“Pretty sure there’s a reason your case is stalling,” Bright said, “And it’s not because of Nico or me.”

“A dirty cop?” JT said, “And Nico didn’t say who?”

“I got the sense he didn’t know who,” Bright replied.

“So…Nico told you not to investigate, and you went straight to some of the last places he was known to be. Then he told you not to trust cops, and so you’re heading to the police station?”

“I’m a terrible listener,” Bright replied, offering him a smile. “You didn’t say anything about the idea that it’s a dirty cop. I expected…some push back.”

“Dirty cops exist,” JT replied, “I’m not interested in the fraternal order bullshit. A lead’s a lead.” JT noticed a new look in Bright’s eyes. The barista seemed impressed. “What? Did I pass your test?”

“What test?”

“You tell me you have massive trust issues, make it clear that Gil is the only person you do trust, and then you ‘trust’ me with this? It doesn’t take a detective to spot a test like that. You wanted to see how I reacted. Did I pass?”

“You haven’t failed yet, Detective.”

“Did you consider what would have happened if I was the dirty cop, and you just pulled that stunt while riding alone with me in my car?”

“No,” Bright said. “Because it isn’t you.”

“I thought you said you didn’t trust me.”

“I don’t,” Bright replied, “But I don’t think you’re dirty. I thought you might be too loyal to admit flaws in your department, but you passed that test. I didn’t need to test whether you were dirty.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I have four-fifths of a doctorate in criminal psychology, and you aren’t guilty,” Bright said.

“Fine, don’t give me a real answer.”

“That is the real answer.”

“You knowing everything isn’t the real answer. Besides, you only know four-fifths of everything.”

Bright laughed, “Fair enough, but they covered your exact profile in the four-fifths I did have.”

“My exact profile?”

“Hero complexes,” Bright said. He looked up as they arrived at the precinct and got out. JT did not miss the way Bright cringed when he did. He came around, eyeing the barista.

“Injuries bothering you?”

“No,” Bright said unconvincingly. He motioned, “Lead the way, Detective.” JT started in, and Bright fell into step just behind him. JT stole a quick glance and saw that when Bright thought he was not being watched, the cocky confidence bled out of him. His eyes were tracing the precinct around him. JT furrowed his brow.

“When was the last time you were in this station?”

Bright’s eyes landed on him. “Not since…”

JT nodded, catching the meaning.

“Gil brought me here, but it was Shannon I talked to.”

JT cringed, “Shannon? Damn. Who let Shannon question a kid?”

“It was a different time,” Bright said as they got in the elevator. “We didn’t start valuing children till the mid-2000s.” JT smirked slightly at the joke, but he did not miss how hollow it sounded. “He was the last person that accused me of having something to do with a murder.”

JT’s eyes widened, “You were a child.”

“Yeah, but not more innocent then than I am now,” Bright replied pointedly.

“Fair enough,” JT said, he folded his hands behind him. “I’m sorry.”

Bright looked over at him, “It’s okay.” JT heard the turn in Bright’s tone, knew he was startled by someone apologizing to him. The detective sighed. Peeling back the layers of Malcolm Bright seemed to reveal so many levels of trauma. “You were just doing your job.”

“I could have done it…gentler.”

Bright reached over and touched JT’s arm, “You really could have.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out something, offering it to the detective. JT stared at it a moment before his eyes confirmed that this man was, in fact, offering him a lollipop. He took it and raised his eyebrow. “You’re forgiven,” Bright explained.

“Please tell me this isn’t what you meant by Edrisa made you eat food today?”

“No, I had Twizzlers too.”

“How are you alive?”

“Miracles happen every day, Detective,” Bright said as the doors opened onto the bullpen. JT started to step in but hesitated when he saw Bright not following. The barista’s eyes were full of old pain and new hesitation. He reached out his hand to keep the doors open.

“JT, Bright,” Dani said, coming over. Her presence seemed to shift the expression on the barista’s face. Bright smiled at her.

“Hello, Detective Powell.”

She nodded to him, then looked to JT. “You two staying in the elevator or…”

Bright walked past JT and stepped into the main room of the precinct. “Is uh…is Gil?” he seemed to be searching for words, putting effort into making himself sound collected.

“He’s in the conference room…I can see if he minds you coming in,” she said this while making eye contact with JT. Dani raised her eyebrow in question, but then focused on the barista. “You good, Mr. Bright?”

“Me?” Bright said, “Sure, fine. 100%.”

“Hmm,” she replied, her tone carefully neutral. Dani knew about Bright’s father as well, but she let nothing show. JT reminded himself that this was exactly why he always lost to Dani at poker.

She went back to the conference room. JT fell back into observing Bright, watching the barista look the bullpen over with intense focus. “Shannon retired,” JT said, “He isn’t here.”

“I know,” he said, “Gil told me. But someone here is who we are looking for.” Dani came back out of the conference room and motioned for them to join her. Bright strode over to her as if he had never had any hesitation. JT shook his head. It seemed the barista was either paralyzed with anxiety or moving without pause. There was no in-between with Malcolm Bright.

“Hey, kid,” Gil said as he walked in. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Bright said, “I’m actually here to talk to you about the case.” Gil’s eyes went from him to JT and back.

“Alright…”

“Other than you, Detective Powell, and JT, who is working on the case?”

Gil frowned, “Our ME, several of the uniforms, crime scene detectives.”

Bright nodded, “Any of them of sketchy?”

JT grabbed the door of the conference room and swung it shut. He had not exactly meant to slam it, but the effect was the same. “You want to just shout to the whole precinct you think one of them is dirty?”

“Maybe,” Bright replied.

“You are a wrecking ball.”

Gil stood up, “You think one of the team is dirty?” he looked at JT. “You agree?”

“I do,” Bright said.

“It’s…worth considering,” JT replied.

“We aren’t having this conversation in here,” Gil said, lowering his voice. He opened the door again, “We won’t get anywhere like this,” he said, louder, but not outside his normal pitch. “Bright’s right, we’ll head back to the café.”

“No, I came here to…” Bright started, but Gil gave one firm shake of the head, and he quieted. “I need to be here, get a feel of the people.”

“Not yet, not right now,” he said. Gil took Bright’s arm and steered him back to the elevator. JT followed a step behind them, Dani at his heel.

“Are we actually going to the coffee shop?” JT asked as they got outside. 

“If Bright’s right, they are watching the café already.”

JT watched Bright look up at the older detective. “You aren’t surprised.”

“I didn’t know,” Gil said, “But I was starting to wonder. Now, no more until we get somewhere safe.”

“Where do we go?” Dani asked.

“Somewhere no one would expect.”

Bright tilted his head, “I have a place.” He looked at Gil. “She’s out of town.” He stuck his hand in his pocket and lifted out a key. Gil considered it a moment, then nodded to the Le Manns.

“Alright, get in.”

_-_-_

They did not speak until the Le Manns pulled up outside a large, gorgeous house that made JT lean forward and whistle.

“Welcome to casa Milton,” Bright said. JT’s eyes swung to the man in the front seat. “Yeah, my mother’s.”

“She’s not going to care we’re going in here?”

“Oh, she’ll care,” Bright said, “My mother absolutely cares about every detail of every moment of my life. But, like I told Gil. She’s not here, so she isn’t likely to know until later.” Bright got out the car first, twirling the key around his finger. He glanced at the house as JT got out, and the detective could practically see another pointed quip on his tongue. Then Bright froze, staring up at the windows of the big house.

“Bright?” Gil asked, walking over to him. JT saw a look on Bright’s face that was full of barely contained pain.

“Ainsley,” he said. Gil’s eyes shot to the house, and JT tracked where he was looking. In the window stood a woman, younger than Bright by at least a few years, with long wavy blonde hair and a houndstooth power suit. She disappeared from the window, her hair flying out behind her. Barely a few seconds later, the front door opened.

“Malcolm?”

He shook his head, opening the car door and climbing back in.

Ainsley slowed her steps, her eyes fixed on Malcolm’s profile. She stopped in front of Gil. “Ainsley,” he said, his tone soft.

“Hi, Gil.” She went on her tiptoes as if that would let her see the man in the car better. “Is he okay? I saw bruises.”

“He got hurt, but the hospital cleared him. He will be fine.”

Ainsley nodded slowly. She looked at JT and then Dani. “I’m Ainsley Whitly.”

“The sister?” JT asked. Something like hope lit up in her eyes.

“He mentioned me?”

“Well…he mentioned that he has a sister,” JT said. Her smile fell. She was the kind of radiant girl that JT had known before. The kind that was used to getting what she wanted with a smile, maybe a flip of the hair. The kind that was wicked smart. He knew instinctively she was a different kind of trouble than her brother, but not less of one.

“Oh, right,” she said. “I’m just picking something up…I’ll head out.” She directed this to Gil. “Just tell him…” she let the words drop. “Never mind. He won’t want to hear it.” She left then without a goodbye, heading down the street. She got into the back of a black car. Bright did not even open the door until the driver pulled out, taking his sister away from them.

“That was a little dramatic,” JT said. Bright did not laugh this time. He looked heavy, tired.

“Let’s get inside,” he said, going to the door to let them in. JT exchanged a look with Dani, but she merely gave a shrug and followed him. Milton Manor, as Bright had referred to it, was a huge space. Everything about it said wealth and privilege. JT raised an eyebrow as he stared at a vase that probably cost more than his car. “We can talk in the sitting room,” Bright said. JT followed him, looking at couches that did not seem the least bit comfortable. He shook his head and took a seat, confirming his suspicion. The cushion had no give.

“Maybe we should start with why you were not at all surprised when I accused someone in your office of being dirty.”

Gil sat across from him, folding his hands. “I had suspicions,” he replied, “Something was not adding up for a while.”

“You mean before this case?” Dani asked.

The lieutenant nodded. “The last few cases,” Gil said, “There was something off.”

Bright leaned forward, “Off how?”

“Some of the cases that came across my desk, they were solved. Nice, clean collars,” Gil said, “But something didn’t sit right, and any time I tried to dig into it, I hit walls.” He shook his head, “Subtle things. I would start to look too closely, and suddenly, our team was swamped, or a pathology report was lost, or a file was transferred to a different department. All things that happen in the normal course of working in a precinct like ours, but…”

“It felt wrong,” Dani replied.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” JT asked.

“I wanted some evidence first.” Gil looked at Bright, “And you have that?”

“Not really,” Bright said, “Nico called me.”

A wave of surprise, then relief, washed over Gil’s face. He reached over and touched Bright’s arm. “He’s alright?”

“He’s alive,” Bright said, “I don’t think he’s alright. He wanted me to stop looking into his disappearance. Then he told me not to trust any police except for you, but he either didn’t know or couldn’t say who he specifically meant.” JT watched the profiler lean forward, bone elbows on his knees as he met Gil’s eyes. “If what you’re saying is true, this isn’t a uniform or a crime scene tech.”

“It’s someone higher up than Gil,” JT said, the thought settling over him.

“And you think somehow Nico’s involved?” Dani replied. “Has he ever had any involvement with the NYPD?”  
“None,” Bright replied. “What about the vic?”

“Nothing on file and no one owning up to it,” Dani replied.

“So, if they’re involved, it’s either unofficial or…” Bright started. Dani raised a finger.

“Or undercover.”

JT sat up. He pictured Nico’s room again, and the books littering his floor. “Bright, when did Nico start buying books about starting a business?”

Bright shook his head, “Recently, the last two months? He always talked about starting a business, but lately, he had been more serious about it.”

“Did Nico have that kind of money?”

“No,” Bright said, “I assumed he would ask me to invest in it, but he didn’t want that. He said he was going to make it himself.”

“How?”

“I assumed he was getting more higher-end clients,” Bright said, “But he…he never said.”

“Maybe he got involved with the police in a way that could make him that money.”

“You think he might be…a paid informant?”

“It’s just a theory,” JT said.

“But it’s more theory than we had this morning,” Dani said, standing. “Gil…”

He nodded, standing, “We’ll run it down. JT…stick with Bright. He’s not allowed out of your sight.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Kid, right now, you look like you need crutches. If someone comes for you again,” Gil let the words fall. He met JT’s eyes, “Take care of him.”

JT nodded, feeling the weight of this commission. This was the lieutenant’s family, the most important person left in his life, and he was trusting JT to keep him safe. Gil squeezed the back of Bright’s neck, then went with Dani out the door. JT looked at Bright. “We should get back to the coffee shop.”

“Yeah,” Bright answered absently. He was staring at the painting on the wall. It was one of those fancy portraits of some rich white man in history. Based on his facial structure, JT guessed it was one of Bright’s ancestors. The barista’s gaze was fixed on it, but he seemed to me seeing into his own thoughts.

“Why did you pick here to come?” JT asked quietly.

“Because this house has held a lot of secrets,” he said, “I figured it could hide a few more.” He shook his head, getting up and limping slowly around the room. “My father used to tell me all these crazy stories when I was a kid. He loved adventures, but every once in awhile, he would tell me stories of haunted mansions. Men disappearing into walls and reappearing somewhere else. Hidden tunnels.” Bright pressed his hand to the ornamental molding. “I was absolutely convinced this house was haunted.” He shook his head, “In fact, I think my Mother believes it is.”

JT was about to make a quip when a thud sounded above them. They both froze. “I thought you said no one was here.”

“No one’s supposed to be,” Bright replied. JT drew his gun, aiming it at the stairway. The sounds continued, coming closer. The detective felt Bright come up beside him.

“Stay back,” JT hissed, taking another step toward the sound.

“Don’t move, I will shoot!” A deep, woman’s voice said. JT saw her come into view, gun in hand. She was aiming it close to where they stood.

“Mother!”  
“Malcolm!”

JT let out a breath and lowered his weapon.

“I thought you were supposed to be in the Hamptons,” Bright said. The woman lowered her gun as well, coming down the steps in a black dress and pearls. She had long, wavy brown hair, and eyes lit with the same intensity as Bright’s.

“I was, but…strange things have been happening around the house, Malcolm.”

He sighed, “Mother, you don’t seriously believe you are being haunted.”

“I hear sounds in the night, and when I investigate nothing is there. I swear there was a phantom ringing,” she pressed her hand to her heart as she spoke. “And the other night, some of my Cabernet Sauvignon went missing.”

“You think a ghost is drinking your wine,” he repeated each word slowly. “And you have a gun why?”

“In case the problem was living,” she replied, putting her other hand on her hip. “What are you doing here scaring me like this? And who is that?”

JT stepped forward, “I’m Detective JT Tarmel, Mrs…”

“Whitly,” Bright supplied.

“Whitly,” JT said, “I work with Lieutenant Gil Arroyo.”

“And why are you in my house staring longingly at my son?” she asked.

The explanation JT was working on before she finished that sentence died on his tongue. Bright put a hand on his arm. “He’s helping me look for Nico. Gil wanted to make sure he had someone with me in case I came up with any more leads.”  
“Oh, really?” she asked. “Not because you nearly died the other night and didn’t tell your mother?”

“I didn’t nearly die,” Bright said, a sigh in his voice. “I got hurt leaving work, but actually…Detective Tarmel saved my life.” The fierce gaze of Mrs. Whitly focused on JT again, looking him up and down appraisingly.

“Then I owe you a great deal of gratitude, Detective,” she said, finishing her descent down the stairs and offering him her hand. “And…from what Gil has said, you’ve been around for my son a lot lately.” She managed to add layers to each word. Her voice could go from a slight purr to a throaty growl in a second. JT had thought talking to Bright was like whiplash, but he had nothing on his mother.

“Alright, Mother,” Bright said, “We’re heading back to the coffee shop.”

“Nonsense!” She said, she took his face, “I never get to see you.” She turned his face slightly, “Will that bruise leave a scar, I wonder?”

He pulled back. “We really need to talk about the case.” Then he tilted his head. JT could tell that under the layers of annoyance and overbearing between them, there was genuine love. It was a combination that was fascinating to watch unfold. “And you saw me yesterday.”

“Fine,” she said, “But at least take some wine with you? I got it for Ainsley, and she ran off without it.” She waved her hand and grabbed a bottle off a nearby table.

“Is this the wine the ghost drank out of?” Bright asked. She tsked her tongue.

“You laugh if you want, Malcolm,” she said, then she hugged her arms and shivered theatrically. “But you cannot tell me this house isn’t full of old ghosts.”

“Goodbye, mother,” he said. “Call me if you hear anything else in the night.”

“That’s not funny, Malcolm,” she said. JT looked between them.

“Mrs. Whitly, what if Bright and I looked around before we leave.”

She narrowed her eyes, studying him as if she suspected a trick. “Well,” she said then, smiling at JT, while somehow aiming a look at her son. “At least someone knows how to show some respect for a woman’s fears.”

Bright sighed, “I am sorry if it seemed like I was not taking you seriously, Mother,” he replied.

“Start with basement, that’s where I hear the most.”

JT looked at Bright. “This way,” he said. He limped toward the stairs, leading JT down. The basement was the only part of the house that was not lavishly decorated. It seemed neglected. When he reached the floor, JT looked around. It was bare save a few old fashioned black trunks. He turned to ask a question and saw Bright standing on the last step. The barista’s hand was shaking on the railing. He caught JT looking and stretched it out painfully. The details of the Surgeon’s case, summarized though they were in the background check, came floating back to JT. “This is where…”

“My father killed his victims?” Bright asked, walking over to stand beside him. “Yes.” He let out a breath. The barista went and rested his hand on the wall. “Behind here is the room. Mother sealed it up.”

Ring.

Bright and JT froze, eyes catching each other.

“You see what I mean,” Mrs. Whitly said from the stairs.

“That’s no ghost,” Bright said, voice low. He pulled the trunk away from the wall and stopped. A hole was cut out of the lower portion of the drywall covered door. Bright’s eyes went to JT.

“Mrs. Whitly, go outside and call Gil. Go now,” JT said. “Bright!”

The barista got on the floor and crawled through the hole, ignoring his injuries.

“Dammit, Bright!” JT said, banging on the wall.


	9. Bobby Joe Lungo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it! Only 1 chapter left! Tune in next week for the conclusion, but until then...
> 
> And join me on twitter @themythofpsyche, on tumblr @literati42, and on tiktok @profchrisagent

Bright’s breath came in quick gasps as he stood up in the basement room he had not entered in two decades. He pulled out his cellphone, turning on the flashlight function.

“Bright!”

JT’s voice came to him through the hole, but Bright did not answer. He moved his light slowly around the room. The beam caught on spiderwebs and dust floating through the air. “It’s empty!” he called back to JT. “No one’s here.” He swung his light back and landed on an old, black phone.

A large crash sounded behind him. Bright jumped, turning his light back the way he came. JT stood there, drywall dust pooling in the air around him like a smokescreen, and an old hammer in his hand. He hit the wall again, then again until there was enough of the door free for him to enter. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Bright replied. JT began looking around the room, pulling out an actual small flashlight he carried on him. “That wasn’t what’s ringing,” JT said as he stepped in, pointing to the phone. “We heard a cellphone.”

As if on cue, another ring sounded. “That’s an alarm,” Bright mouthed to JT and ran to the wall. He pressed his ear against it. Another ring. “It’s…coming from behind the wall.” JT came over, raising the hammer. “No! This one is load-bearing and not just drywall.” Bright caught his arm.

“How do you get back there?”

Bright shook his head, “There isn’t anything back there.”

“I think you’re wrong about that.” JT looked at him. “What were those ghost stories your father told you about?”

Bright’s eyes widened, “Men disappearing and reappearing…because of secret tunnels.” He shook his head. “They…they can’t be real.” He looked to JT, hoping to find him dismissing the idea as much as he was, only to find him searching the walls. Bright closed his eyes.

_-_-_

JT looked back at Bright, seeing his breath speeding up. “Hey, hey,” he said, “Stay focused…there’s someone down here.” Bright opened his eyes, wild panic in them, but also something determined. He gave a tight nod. “If this was your father’s…workspace. The tunnels have to connect here somehow.”

“Right, yeah, right,” Bright said. JT saw him head off to the other side of the room. He let the kid be his own brand of chaos in motion, but he was going for methodical. The detective walked step by step, running his hands along the wall.

“JT,” Bright said. When the detective looked, he found the man standing in the middle of the room, staring down at a rug, staring at a slightly rolled up edge. “Did you walk this way?”

“No,” JT replied. He came over, grabbing one end of the large rug. Bright grabbed the other, and they jerked it off, uncovering a wooden trap door.

“The basement keeps going…lower.”

JT shook his head. “I’m not an idiot white guy in a horror movie,” he said, then glanced at Bright. “No offense.”

For once, the kid did not banter back. Bright stared at the door, looking pale, and wild in the bare light from the flashlight. 

“We wait for back up,” JT said.

“And let the person hiding in the walls of my mother’s home get away?” Bright said. Something dark crossed his eyes. He grabbed the door and pulled. It crashed against the floor with a loud bang.

“Dammit. If the person didn’t know we were here, they do now,” JT growled. He muscled passed Bright. “If we’re going, I’m going first.” JT passed the light to Bright, then steadied his gun against his other hand and nodded. “Okay.”

He took a step down into the dark, creaking wooden stairs, Bright at his shoulder lighting the way. Slowly, the beam showed them a small room, a pile of blankets, and a pillow in the corner. Remnants of food on a plate. Bright frowned. “The soup is still steaming.”

“Yeah,” JT said. Bright swung the light around and revealed another set of stairs going up.

“That doesn’t lead anywhere in the house,” Bright said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Behind the wall,” JT replied. He made his way slowly to the stairs, then up them. Bright’s light illuminated a long hallway. Ahead, the shadows fell in such a way that JT could just make out a turn and possibly another door. A chime sounded to the left, and suddenly a figure ran across the hallway toward the turn. “Hey! Stop!” JT said. He took off running, the light cutting in and out behind him as Bright struggled to keep up on his injury. “Stop! Freeze!”

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” A young male voice said. Bright came around the corner, nearly running into JT. The flashlight beam fell on a man, shorter even than Bright and around the same age, with curly brown hair and one arm.

“Nico!” Bright said. He dropped the flashlight, it clattered to the ground, echoing through the hall. Bright sprinted to the other man and Nico grabbed him in a hug. “I can’t believe you’re alive.”

JT grabbed the flashlight, lifting it to watch the two men hold to each other for a beat before Nico pushed him back. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? Nic? You’re living in the walls of my family’s house. My mother thinks she’s haunted by ghosts of my father’s victims.”  
Nico cringed, “I thought she was going to the Hamptons.”

“She was until she heard you,” Bright replied, “You don’t have the ability to be quiet.”

“I’ve literally never had a stealth mode,” Nico agreed.

“Nic, what are you doing here?”

“I told you, there are people after me. I needed somewhere to go. I remembered your stories, about the basement room no one goes into.” He shook his head, “Then I found the hallways by accident.”

“And you just decided, I’ll move into a serial killer’s secret lair?” JT asked.

Nico turned to him for the first time, and even in the dim light, the detective saw his eyes narrow in distrust. “Who the hell is this?”

“This is JT. He works with Gil.”

“A cop?” Nico looked at him. “What did I say about cops.”

“I got it, there’s a dirty cop you’re worried about, but it’s not JT.”

“You trust him?” Nico asked, his eyes staring a challenge into Bright. “You? Trusting someone?”

Bright looked back and found JT’s eyes. The detective stared right back. In that moment, in that hall, JT did not know what answer Bright would give. Did he trust him? This man that trusted almost no one. Slowly, the barista turned back to his friend and said, “Yes.”

JT watched a silent conversation pass between them, before Nico’s shoulders untensed. “It doesn’t make a difference. You have to leave and pretend you never saw me.”

“Can’t do that,” JT replied. “Not gonna happen.”

“It has to happen,” Nico said, “Look this is so much bigger than you know.”

“We figured it out. There’s a dirty cop, somewhere high up. Gil’s been suspicious for a while.” Bright touched Nico’s arm. “He will keep you safe.”

“No, you don’t understand. Bright, you have to get Gil to back off this. They’ll kill him and make it look like an accident. They’ve done it before.”

“He’s already looking into it, Nico.”  
Nico shook his head, grabbing onto the other barista’s shoulder. “Bright. You have to call him off.”

“We’re not talking about this in the hallways my father used to murder people. My mother is gone now, so we’re going upstairs.” Nico hesitated, but JT could see his resolve slipping. The man looked terrible from weeks hiding alone in this space.

“Fine, but no rooms with windows.”  
“We’ll just go to the main basement then.”

The trek back through the hallways, out the hole in the plastered up doorway, and into the main basement space was silent. Bright walked beside Nico, neither man speaking but occasionally each staring at each other like they never expected to see the other again. JT thought maybe neither had expected a reunion, though both for different reasons. 

Back in the main portion of the basement, JT watched some of the tension bleed out of Bright. It was as if he left some part of his father’s presence behind when he stepped out of that room. Nico sat on the floor, cross-legged with a tired sigh. 

“You alright?” Bright asked.

“Yeah, I should probably steal some more food.”

Bright frowned in concern, but then narrowed his eyes, “Wait, you stole my mother’s wine?” He shook his head, “Brave man.”

Nico laughed, the sound strained but genuine. “I missed you.”

Bright smiled softly, “Give us a minute.” He raised his eyebrow at JT and moved over toward the stairwell. “Maybe you should check on Gil,” he said.

“You think he’s really in danger?” JT asked. Bright’s face clouded further.

“Nico thinks he is,” he said by way of answer. He touched JT’s arm lightly. The detective felt a jolt at the touch. The familiarity of it was startling, even if Bright seemed oblivious to his own movement. Maybe, JT realized, it was startling because Bright touched him unconsciously, reaching for him as if it was the most natural thing. “Don’t tell him about Nico—not over the phone— in case someone’s listening.” JT nodded.

“Try to convince him to let us bring him in,” JT said, Bright nodded in return. The detective started up the stairs to make the call but hesitated. He still did not know if he should trust Nico, and they did not exactly have answers at this point. JT lingered a moment, listening in. 

“Nic,” Bright’s voice came to him quietly. “Why didn’t you come to me for help?”

“I didn’t need your help,” Nico said, but it lacked any harshness. “I…didn’t want to always need your help. I owe you enough already.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Bright replied, “You saved my life as much as I saved yours. More probably.” His tone was so earnest, desperate even. JT felt something shift in his gut that he could not begin to name. He shook his head and went the rest of the way up the stairs.

When he left the basement, he glanced at his cellphone. There was no reception. It was strange, but he had not noticed the lack of reception earlier. JT walked around the main room for a moment, frowning. Then, the detective stepped outside, walking down the steps. Still nothing. He frowned. The Whitly house was in the middle of the city, not some backcountry road. There was no reason he should have no reception. He walked a bit further away on the sidewalk. Suddenly the cell bars returned to his screen, revealing six missed calls he had not been able to get down there. All from Dani. He immediately called her. “JT,” she said, her tone breathless, “Where are you?”

“Still at the Whitly house.”

“Grab Bright and get out of there. Now.”

JT tensed, “What is it?”

“There’s no time. Someone’s after him, go,” Dani said. JT glanced back toward the house. There was no good reason for cell reception to be out.

Unless someone was blocking it.

He cursed and took off at a run, throwing open the front door and running back for the basement, “Bright!” he called. A gunshot rang out from below him.


	10. Lady Killer Grey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here! The final chapter of Ripper Street! This is the longest story I've ever written, and truly my favorite thing I've written too!  
> It's been a bit of a journey. It's also a massive TBC so please check back for Ripper Street 2: Caffeine Addiction 
> 
> As always, come find me on twitter @themythofpsyche, on tumblr @literati42, or on tiktok @profchrisagent
> 
> ***For a limited time! I am opening my requests. Details on this limited time situation here:  
> https://literati42.tumblr.com/post/621471260850995200/commissions-requests-or-trades-i-am-opening-back/amp?__twitter_impression=true&fbclid=IwAR2AbrSDCTaWaxOLTrDG44o0XcCfSSTZ7GOQr4AfFGlIMuagEKunyJLZ7kM
> 
> Some important things.  
> Chapter contains TW/CW past suicide attempt and police corruption
> 
> I was supposed to post this chapter at the beginning of June. There was something lovely about the final chapter of this queer slow burn going up at the beginning of Pride month. Then the world changed. It was not the right time. Then as I sat on the story, I began to think about the final chapter and what it was setting up for story 2. It became clear to me a story focusing heavily on corrupt police was going to be painful to tell and painful to read. I wanted this to be a sweet story about a coffee shop that represents found family and a safe place. So, I brainstormed with Ponderosa. This chapter came out of that conversation, I think you'll like where it goes.
> 
> The world is dark right now, friends. Do what you can to help the movement. You are welcome here. Black Lives Matter. <3

Bright stood in the darkness, pressed against the wall with one hand on Nico’s shoulder. “I can’t believe you chucked the flashlight at him,” Nico whispered.

“Shh,” Bright replied.

It all went pear-shaped so quickly.

**10 Minutes earlier**

After JT left, Bright sunk to the floor beside Nico and pulled a lollipop out of his pocket.

“Meal of champions,” Nico said with a fond smile.

“I thought you were dead.”

“I’m sorry. I really am,” Nico replied, “I thought if I just disappeared, you’d be safe. Obviously, I greatly underestimated your ability to be overly involved in my life.”

“Not a mistake people make twice,” Bright said, giving him a slight smile. “Nic, tell me what happened. You knew the guy that got murdered, didn’t you?”

Nico nodded, “I called him Ethan, but I don’t think that was his real name. He wanted info on one of my clients. To be honest, the client gave me a pretty bad vibe. I would have probably stopped going, but…” He shrugged, “Ethan approached me about being a paid informant. I think he was undercover.”

“A cop?” Bright said, “Who was the client?”

“I didn’t know his name. I was never allowed to see his face, but he was loaded and powerful.”

Bright started to reply, but paused, hearing a creak from the steps. He frowned, wondering why JT was bothering to sneak.

“Did you get Gil?” Bright asked. A cold chill went down his spine when no answer came. “JT?” He saw the barrel of the gun first, then the person holding it. He knew this man. Flashes of cash dropped in the tip jar, meaningless pleasantries, and Lady Killer Grey tea orders played through Bright’s mind. This man had been a regular at the shop for weeks.

“Don’t move,” the man said.

Bright’s eyes narrowed, and he reacted on instinct, chucking the flashlight full-force at the man’s face. The gun went off, shot going wide. “Go, Nico,” Bright said, grabbing him and shoving him through the hole in the plaster, back to Dr. Whitly’s murder room. They both took off at a run toward the tunnels.

Now they waited in the dark, listening. “How far do you think these tunnels go?” Bright asked when the silence continued.

“I never went further than this,” Nico replied.

“They have to lead out somewhere. I’m pretty sure they were for Prohibition.” Bright clicked his cell’s screen to cast a soft, blue light in front of them. “Come on.” He began walking, his ears straining for the sound of pursuit.

_-_-_

JT hit the basement, eyes going everywhere at once. He saw the new bullet hole in the plaster, but no blood. Not yet. He went back into the Surgeon’s workroom, following the path through the tunnels, his gun drawn.

Another shot rang out. JT growled, taking off after it. He came to the fork in the tunnels again and cursed. The way these walls echoed, the sound could have come from either direction. He picked one, praying he was right. The tunnel suddenly began to slope upward. JT nearly stumbled, righted himself, put a hand on the wall to guide him through the suffocating darkness, and kept going.

A fragment of light appeared ahead. JT sped up. A stairway slowly revealed itself, going up to a door thrown wide open. JT slowed his steps and moved up cautiously, leading with his gun. He turned quickly at the top, trying to let his vision adjust to the sudden light.

The tunnel let out into a warehouse. The light coming in from the dirty windows revealed rows and rows of shipping crates. JT slowly began moving through them. It was growing darker, a storm slowly creeping over the sky to cast the room around him into increasing levels of shadows. He cursed under his breath.

_-_-_

Bright crouched behind a stack of boxes, Nico beside him. “Where is he?” Nico whispered. Bright shook his head. The man had missed them twice in the tunnel’s darkness, but out here, their chances were much worse, even with the growing gloom from the storm forming outside. Lightning crashed across the sky with a loud boom, and the clouds opened, pouring rain against the roof above. So much noise, enough noise to hide footsteps. Bright cursed.

“We won’t be able to hear him coming.”

He froze, a shadow at the edge of their row. Bright shoved Nico into the next aisle. “Run,” he whispered, then pushed over one of the boxes and took off in the opposite direction. The box clattered loudly to the floor. Bright felt his ankle resist, protesting his attempt to run, but he kept pushing forward. The sound of a gunshot rang out in the warehouse right behind him. Heat burned Bright’s ear, and he threw himself sideways into the next opening, stumbling to the floor. His hand went up to his ear, hot blood coating his fingers. A graze, but barely. It looked like he was one millimeter from having his brains splattered across the concrete.

Bright pushed himself up from the floor and pain rocketed from his ankle. He collapsed again. His eyes went back to the opening between the boxes. The man had not appeared there yet, but the barista could feel his time running down. Bright looked over his shoulder for anything, anything at all. He saw an emergency exit. He half crawled, half propelled himself with his good leg toward the door, shoving his shoulder against it to knock it open. He tripped the emergency exit alarm, the sound blaring violently. Bright’s eyes flitted back to the row where the man stood, his gun aimed. The barista threw himself out the door, hitting the asphalt painfully, his hands scraping across it as he tried to catch himself. There was nowhere to hide out here, no way to run. He looked back at the door as the man walked out. If Bright could not get away, he would have to fall back on something he could always do. Talk.

“Wait, wait,” he said, holding up his hand, “I know you. You’re one of our regulars. You always order Lady Killer Grey tea and sit in the corner table. You’ve always been nondescript, but that was on purpose, right? You’ve been staking us out for weeks now.” The man leveled his gun at Bright, and the barista knew it would be a good shot—the man’s hand was perfectly steady. “You’ve killed before and…I’m going to guess my incredible tea brewing skills aren’t going to stop you.”

“No,” he replied, his head tilted slightly, and Bright knew he was going to pull the trigger.

The barista held up his hand, “You’re not the shot caller. Someone is your boss, someone much more powerful.” The man was not allowing himself to get drawn out. Whatever mission he was on, Bright did not believe he could stir him from it.

This was the end, Bright realized, and that thought made everything stand out. Bright noticed the rain, pouring from the sky and soaking him through, casting his hair into his eyes and drawing the warm blood down his face. He felt every individual ache in his body. He let out a breath. He did not close his eyes.

Bang.

Bright flinched. He did not feel the bullet. He still felt the rain, and the pain, and the cold, but he did not feel the shot. He stared into the man’s eyes.

The man fell to his knees, then to the ground.

Bright stared, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

“Bright! Bright!” His eyes raised slowly to the door, to JT standing there with his gun aimed ahead. The barista lifted his hand to press against his chest and drew it back. Nothing.

JT hit his knees and skidded to a stop in front of Bright, prying away his hand. “Where are you hit? Bright? Where are you hit?”

Malcolm lifted his hand and touched JT’s arm, “That was your shot? The shot was yours?”

JT met his eyes, and Bright saw nothing but panic there. “What?”

“I…I’m not hit…” He said it as he realized it. The only shot fired was the one that killed his attacker.

JT seemed to take a moment for that to sink in. His hand not leaving Bright’s chest. “You’re not?”

“No,” Bright shook his head. The sound of sirens poured around them, and Bright let out a laugh that was pure tension and relief. His hand tightened on JT’s arm then, “Nico?”

“He’s safe.”

Bright let his head fall forward, resting it on JT’s shoulder.

“Bright!” Gil’s voice was the next one he heard. The man came through with Dani at his heels, taking in the scene. It was pure chaos, but they were safe now. 

_-_-_

JT stood at the front of the building, letting his heart finally slow down. Nico and Bright were with the EMTs. Gil, after a thousand reassurances that Bright was alright, was with Dani taking care of the scene of the shooting. JT was alone with his thoughts. He tilted his face up into the rain, letting it wash off what remained of the fear he felt moments before.

“Detective?” The voice brought him out of his thoughts. JT looked up to see Bright, limping toward him in the rain.

“The hell, Bright,” he said, pushing off the wall to cover the rest of the distance between them before the barista fell over. “You’re supposed to be on the way to the hospital.”

“Yeah, Gil will insist on that,” Bright smiled slightly at him. “I told them I was an important part of the police force, and I had something to take care of before I left.”

“Oh, you’re impersonating an officer now?” he said, without much heat.

“No,” Bright said, “I am an important part of the police force. I’m the guy who makes their coffee.”

JT laughed despite himself, putting a hand on Bright’s shoulder to keep him steady. He looked at the man. Bright was standing there. Standing there despite everything they had been through in the few weeks since they met. Somehow alive, despite the damage. Standing there, soaking wet from the rain and somehow looking more beautiful than JT had ever seen him. “What is the important thing you couldn’t wait to say to me at the hospital?”

“Have you figured it out yet, Detective?”

“Figured what out?” JT asked.

“The mystery you’ve been trying to solve. Do you care about me or not?”

JT started to say something dismissive, started to push him toward the ambulance. It was what he should do, but Bright had nearly died. When JT came out of the warehouse to find a man with a gun trained on Malcolm, he knew how close he came to losing him. Suddenly, JT could not walk away from the moment.

“What happens if I say yes?” JT asked. Bright took another step toward him, his eyes full of so many emotions at once JT did not know how he could possibly keep from bursting.

“Then maybe we give this a try.”

JT swallowed. “What happens if I say no?”

“Then you put me out of my misery.” Bright shook his head, drops of water pushing his hair into his face. “Maybe we agree to stop hurting each other.”

“So…if we give this a try, we’ll just keep hurting each other?” JT asked. Bright shook his head again, frustration rolling off him.

“Maybe. Yes. I don’t know,” Bright said, “Is that what you want? You want me to lay out exactly how this works? Give you assurances that it will be easy? I can’t. Actually, the only thing I can 100% promise is it won’t be easy. It never is for me. It never is for anyone who cares about me.” He swallowed, and JT could feel Bright’s hurt as if it ran through his own body. The emotion of it choked him up.

“I don’t know how to love you.”

Bright’s head dropped, “Right,” he said, the word sounded full of defeat. He took a step away. JT thought he would let the barista go. Let him walk away into the stormy twilight, back to his life that was not perfect, but had its own kind of beauty. Let him leave JT and all the baggage that came with him behind. JT would let himself forget Bright, or at least begin to try, because he suspected it would be impossible to ever completely leave the memory behind.

JT grabbed his wrist before he could get a step further away. “I don’t know how to let you walk away either.”

“Dammit, JT,” Bright said, “Why do you have to say things like that?” JT took a step toward him, pulling him closer too, and put his hand on Bright’s face. Bright gasped, and JT found himself swallowing the lump in his throat. He saw such a mix of emotions—surprise, hurt, and something else. JT felt every movement, from the thudding of his own heart to the shaking in Bright’s hand he still held. It was so hard to breathe.

“Can I?” he asked, his voice breathless.

“Dammit, JT, kiss me already,” Bright said, and the detective obeyed. He took Bright’s lips. For a split second, it felt like a car wreck as everything between them crashed into each other. Then it was light and warmth. JT pulled Bright against him, felt his body melt under his touch. The kiss powered by so many weeks of desire.

Desire.

That had been the reason he could not let this go, but it was more than desire. It was something so profound he did not know the words to describe it. Bright moaned, and it sent a chill down JT’s spine.

Then he froze.

That was a pained moan. JT pulled back, “Bright?”

JT pressed his hand gently to the barista’s chest, feeling his heart hammer. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Bright got out, sounding anything but.

“Dammit, you need to get back to the ambulance.”

Bright’s eyes looked up, something like sadness flashing through them. JT read them in a second, shaking his head.

“Bright, I’m going with you.”

“Oh,” he said. Then somehow, despite his pain, Bright still found a way to look insecure. “So…we’re giving this a try.”

“Yeah, yeah,” JT said. He took Bright’s elbow and started guiding him toward the waiting ambulance. The barista practically fell against his side for a second time, and JT felt the man shaking from cold. JT slid his arm around Bright, helping him, giving him what warmth he could offer. The EMTs took over, ushering him into the ambulance. JT had not realized he was still holding Bright’s hand until it slipped from his fingers as the EMTs stepped in. Bright looked back. “I’ll meet you there,” JT said.

Bright nodded, and then Gil was there, checking on his kid. JT turned away, walking in a daze back toward the crime scene.

_-_-_

JT helped Dani finish with the CSI team, and he was about to head straight to the hospital when his partner caught his arm. “You should get some dry clothes first or you’ll freeze.”

“Dani…”

“They won’t be done checking him out yet,” she said. His eyes went to her, questioning. “Are we still pretending I don’t know what’s happening here? Like I didn’t see you making out with him outside our active crime scene?”

JT groaned, “Did Gil?”

“Oh yes,” she replied, “And the EMTs. Five uniforms. I think Nico from the ambulance.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Maybe,” she said, patting his arm, “Gil definitely saw though.” JT groaned again, but he followed her to her car.

_-_-_

JT and Dani drove to the precinct in silence. Both of them kept a few changes of clothes at the office. Showing up at crime scenes was hands-on work that sometimes required a costume change. JT paused when he realized that had sounded like the kind of thing Bright would say.

JT shook the thought away and started in. Dani hesitated as they entered the bullpen. “What’s Gil doing here?” She asked. JT followed her gaze to the windows of Gil’s office.

“I thought he went to the hospital with Bright.”

“I did too,” she replied, taking a step forward. Gil was standing with his superior officers sitting in the chairs. They were stone-faced, but Gil’s expression was full of fury like JT had never seen it. He and Dani moved as one, going closer. They stayed just outside the door, hovering, waiting for a sign that they could do anything. Gil was shaking his head, waving his hands. Then he went still, his face going cold. He pulled off his badge, slapped it on his desk, and put his gun down with it.

_-_-_

When a phone call prevented Gil from getting in the ambulance with Bright, he had said, “Go with them, kid. I’ll follow right behind you.” But Gil did not come to the hospital after Bright arrived.

Bright kept glancing for him as he waited after the EMTs decided he was not a great risk. Even after got into the room, Gil did not arrive. Finally, the door opened, and Bright’s eyes whipped up to it. Edrisa walked in. “Malcolm!”

“Edrisa,” he replied, happy even as some part of him still worried. She ran over and hugged him. Bright hissed at the impact of her body. She jerked back, a hand on his chest.

“Ribs?”

“Yeah, just bruised.”

“And?” she raised her eyebrow.

“I’m fine, Edrisa,” he said. Her eyebrow went up further. “I am. Just bruises, some scrapes on my hands, and the doctor was not super happy about how much I did on my ankle. What are the chances I would get the same doctor?”

“What are the chances you’d find a doctor you hadn’t seen at this point?” she replied. Edrisa gently touched the bandage on his ear. “What’s this one?”

“I got grazed,” he said it lightly, but her eyes widened.

“By a bullet?”

“It’s a graze,” he replied. Bright held up his hands, but the bandages on his palms did little to calm her. She hugged him again, careful of his ribs this time. “I’m okay, I promise.” When she finally released him, his brow furrowed. “Nico?”

“He’s fine, just a bit dehydrated.”

“He should have stolen water instead of my mom’s wine,” Bright replied, bringing a slight smile to Edrisa’s lips.

“They said I could take you home.” Edrisa gave a little laugh, her eyes wet with tears, “I get to bring my boys home.”

A few rounds of paperwork and a couple of thousand promises that Edrisa would make sure he really would rest that ankle this time, and Malcolm was finally allowed to leave. He hobbled out to the waiting room with her, and finally, his eyes landed on Gil coming in through the double doors. “I’ll get Nico,” Edrisa said, heading off down the hall. Bright barely had a second to process that something was wrong with his father figure’s expression before Gil made it across the room to him. Gil began to cup the back of his neck and switched at the last moment, drawing Bright into a hug. The barista melted into the touch, his arms coming up slowly to hug Gil back.

“Gil?”

“Come on, kid. We’ll meet them outside.”

Bright tried to catch Gil’s eye, but the older man’s gaze stayed away from his as they left the hospital and headed toward the Le Mann’s in the parking lot. He got in the passenger side, looking over as Gil got in. “Did something happen with the case?”

“Mm,” Gil replied, “The man who came after you and Nico was Adrien Lawrence, undercover cop. He was the partner of our vic, the man you knew as Ethan. Real name Steve Page.” 

“Lawrence had been coming into the café,” Bright said. Gil nodded, but he did not take the information in like he usually did. There was no confident look like Gil was putting pieces together. The information just fell flat between them.

“The call I got at the scene was my bosses. Apparently, Lawrence was dirty, and Page found out about it, then Lawrence killed him. They believe he came after Nico because he thought he was a witness.”

Bright’s brow furrowed. “Nico didn’t witness anything about Lawrence. Page was coming to him to investigate a client.”

Gil nodded, but again there was something held back. Bright frowned.

“Gil, this doesn’t make sense. What about the men that attacked me in the alley? How do they fit in? And it doesn’t explain what’s been happening at the precinct. A dirty undercover cop isn’t messing with your cases. It has to go up higher than that.”

“They aren’t going to look into it, Bright.”

“What?”

Gil looked old in that moment, so much older than his years should have made him. “The dirty cop is dead and so is the partner who knew what was going on. That’s case closed.”

“Gil…”

“They won’t call Internal Affairs. They found out about me looking into potential corruption, and they shut it down.” Gil finally looked at him. It had been a long time since Bright saw so little hope in the older man’s eyes. “I don’t know if my bosses are involved or if they don’t want the embarrassment, but they aren’t going to let this go any further.”

Bright felt an argument swell in his chest. He wanted to say they could not do that. He wanted to say it was not fair. He wanted to speak the words he remembered forming in his head when he was a child, being questioned after his father’s arrest. The words of anger that formed in him when Detective Shannon accused him of being involved. Eleven-year-old Malcolm went quiet then, swallowing his voice for months after that interrogation. Did they expect him to go quiet again now?

“They wanted Nico’s name,” Gil said.

Bright felt the breath go out of him as surely as it had when he fell on the pavement a few hours ago. “What?”

“We kept his name out of our notes, referred to him only as a witness. My higher-ups demanded his name.”

“Why?”

“Because he was a witness,” Gil ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know what they would have done. Probably come for him. He’s a sex worker. They would discredit anything he said, maybe even charge him.”

Bright felt his hand shaking at his side. “What did you do?”

“I quit, kid. I handed in my badge.”

Bright gasped. “You can’t. Gil, everything you’ve worked for…”

“Everything I worked for was to protect people, Bright. Everything I’ve worked for has never been the title or the job. Everything I’ve worked for was to keep people like Nico safe, people everyone else would rather forget exist.” His eyes met Bright’s, and the barista found nothing but determination there. “To protect people like you. That’s all it’s ever been about for me, kid. And if they are going to stand in my way of doing that, then I find another way.”

Bright studied him, “You aren’t giving up on Nico’s case.”  
“Not until he’s safe, not until you’re both safe,” Gil replied. “You still have friends at Quantico?”

“I never had friends at Quantico,” Bright replied.

“Someone that will listen?”

“I can try.”

“Try,” Gil said, glancing up as the back door of the car opened, and Edrisa and Nico slid in.

“What about Dani and…JT?” Bright asked, thinking that Gil was not the only one who had not shown up at the hospital like he said he would.

“They handed in their badges today too.”

_-_-_

Dani walked into the café, still in her rain-soaked clothes that were now drying uncomfortably to her skin. She had not exactly stopped to clear out her desk when she stormed out of the precinct after Gil, which meant she also never got the dry clothes. Dani felt JT behind her, her partner on the job, and now apparently in leaving it. The reality of that had not fully settled in. She was in a mild daze.

“We’re closed,” Edrisa said, coming out of the backroom. She stopped, “Oh! Except for you two, you get drinks on the house.”

“Heard about our new jobless state?” Dani asked, walking over and leaning on the counter.

“I heard about your heroics, you mean. We know what you did for Nico this whole time, and in leaving.” Edrisa studied her, “You’re soaking wet!”

“I’m fine.”

“Wet leather is the actual worst feeling. I did a cosplay one time on a rainy day and…” Edrisa waved her hand, “Nevermind. Let me at least make you something warm.”

“Maybe just a tea?” Dani said with a smile. Edrisa nodded then glanced at JT, the man was still standing silently by the door.

“Gil went home to get some stuff. He’s going to stay here tonight, but Mal’s upstairs.”

JT nodded, hesitating for a second before heading to the stairs. Dani and Edrisa watched him go. Edrisa shook her head, going to heat some water. “I hope they actually talk this time.”

“They kissed at the crime scene,” Dani replied, a slightly mischievous smile coming to her lips. It felt wrong against the backdrop of their day, but she could not prevent feeling a bit of delight at how utterly useless her tough partner was rendered by the barista.

Edrisa spun around, eyes wide. “They did?” she sounded breathless. Then as one, the two women burst into laughter, the kind of laughter that only came after too much time of pain and worry.

Dani did not remember the last time she laughed like that. “I hope they figure it out.”

“Me too,” Edrisa replied, pouring the piping hot water into a mug that said _I’ll be your alibi._ “There’s no feeling in the world as good as finding your people, you know? The ones that make you feel like you belong. Your…” She thought for a moment, “Your safe place to land.”

“You think that’s what they are for each other?”

“I hope so,” Edrisa said, “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for my boys.”

“And what about for you?” Dani asked. Edrisa slid the mug across the bar, and Dani reached for it. Maybe Edrisa did not release it soon enough or Dani reached too fast, but their fingers bumped against each other. They lingered for a second, then Dani picked up the mug, and Edrisa let her hand fall.

“I haven’t found it yet,” Edrisa replied.

“Me either,” Dani said.

_-_-_

Bright sat on the couch, cushions surrounding him, with one propping up his hurt ankle. Edrisa had done it, but it was Gil that said in no uncertain terms he was not allowed to move. For once, he was so exhausted he found it easy to imagine complying.

A gentle knock sounded from the door. Bright sat up slightly, “It’s open.”

The door opened slowly, revealing JT. Bright sat up as much as his pillow prison would allow. “JT…”

“You heard what happened.”

Bright nodded, “I have contacts, I wouldn’t call them friends exactly, but people at the FBI I can talk to,” Bright said, his words tumbling together with the speed they tried to get out of his mouth. “They can look into this, and you can get your job back.”

JT nodded at that, walking over and taking the seat in front of Bright. “You should call them. Someone needs to look into this, but,” he said, “I don’t know if I want my job back.”

Bright stilled, studying his face. “You don’t?”

“Bright,” he said, “I was a good student because everyone told me I should be a good student. Then I became a soldier because everyone said I should be a soldier. It was the only thing I ever planned to be.” JT leaned his head back, eyes tracing the ceiling meaninglessly. “Then I couldn’t be a soldier anymore, and I just, didn’t know how to be anything. I became a cop because…” JT shook his head, “It just seemed like the next thing. Then I met you, a cocky know-it-all barista, and you tell me you got into the FBI, you got into a doctorate program, and you just gave them both up. It made me furious.”

“Because I wasted my potential?” Bright asked, tone dark. JT shook his head.

“Because I was jealous,” he said. Malcolm felt his defenses melting as the other man met his eyes. “You had a plan, and you chose not to follow it. You chose to find something that made you happy. I couldn’t imagine doing that.” Bright blinked back tears.

“JT, giving that up, it wasn’t some act of courage,” Bright said, the words struggling past the lump in his throat. “It was survival.” JT leaned forward, but Malcolm looked away, staring at the bandages across his palms.

“You mean what happened a year ago.”

“It was my birthday,” Bright said, he heard JT shift and without looking knew the man was settling in to listen. He realized that in a short time, he could already picture the way JT moved. “Things between me and Ainsley…” he felt the weight of the story on him and let the sentence drop. “We weren’t talking. I was home for a visit, sitting at my mother’s table with her and Gil, and Ainsley’s seat was empty.” A slight joyless laugh escaped his lips. “I asked my mother not to invite her, but I think some part of me expected her to show up anyway. It wasn’t just Ainsley, it was a thousand things, and then my father called from Claremont.” He felt the tears, stinging now. “Gil, he begged me not to leave, but I just hugged him and got in the car with my mother’s driver. It wasn’t the first time things got that dark…” Bright gently touched the scars on his arm, then let his fingers fall away. “But this time…I swallowed a handful of pills I stole from my mother.” He finally looked up. Bright did not know what he expected, but what he saw was JT still leaning forward. JT still there. “And then, we crashed into Nico’s car. I don’t know how I found the strength, but the driver was hurt, and I just forced myself to go to Nico. I couldn’t get him out, and I could feel my strength leaving. I had to act quickly and so…”

“You cut his arm off,” JT said.

Bright nodded. “Apparently, the paramedics found us both almost dead.”

“So,” JT said, “When you said Nico saved your life, you meant the crash.”

“No,” Malcolm replied, shaking his head, “That was an accident. No, Nico saved my life every day after that. After we got out of the hospital, he found me. I don’t know if he came to yell at me or thank me, but whatever it was he saw in me, he kept coming back.” Bright cleared his throat, rubbing his eyes roughly, “The point is, JT, after that I had to quit. I couldn’t become a profiler or a forensic psychologist. It was killing me.”

“Are you happy now, Bright?”

“Not every day,” he replied, “But yeah, sometimes. More times than before.”

“I think, I thought I was happy until I met you,” JT said. Bright felt the words digging into his skin. “And then I realized I was only living. Maybe I want more sometimes too.” Bright felt a smile tugging at his split lip, he reached out his hand, but JT did not take it.

“Bright, I was so confident a few hours ago, and then everything changed.”

Bright let his hand fall. “And now?”

“I need to figure out what I’m doing next,” JT said, and Bright watched the pain in his eyes, letting it tell him what was coming next. “And I can’t do that and figure out what we are at the same time.”

Bright looked away, “That’s not fair,” he said. “I can’t even be mad at you for that.”

“You aren’t?”

“I would never stand between you and finding a way to be happy sometimes,” Bright said, “I can….I can be your friend.”  
“Bright,” JT looked away. “I can’t be your friend. I just need…”

“Space.”

JT shook his head, “No. Just time.” JT shifed forward, “Just time, Bright, but I will be back.”

Bright tilted his head up. He did not know when JT had gotten this close, but he found himself lost in the other man’s eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” JT’s eyes asked a question, and Bright received it.

“You can.”

JT cupped Bright’s chin, his touch feather-light, and leaned in, kissing him. This was not the violent desperation of their first kiss. This kiss tasted like goodbye. JT pulled back, his eyes full of pain. Bright looked away. JT did not cheapen the kiss by speaking. He stood, and Bright listened to his footsteps walking away, the door swinging shut behind him.

He was still staring at the door five minutes later when it opened again. For a second, his heart stuttered, JT’s name forming on his lips, when the door swung back to reveal Edrisa and Nico. “How did it go?” Edrisa asked, beaming at him. He watched the joy fall from her face. Edrisa rushed across the room, taking him into her arms. Bright clung to her, feeling the tears. A second later, Nico came up and hugged him from behind until he was engulfed in the arms of his little family.

**To Be Continued**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For resources on the BLM movement:  
> https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/
> 
> Malcolm Bright in my story and in the show demonstrates suicidal behaviors (and in this story has past attempts). If you or anyone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts, go to the National Suicide Lifeline website:  
> https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/  
> They have a 24/7 help line to call, a number to text, and information on suicide. You can also learn more at the National Institute of Mental Health's pages on Depression  
> https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/depression/index.shtml
> 
> If you or anyone you know shows signs of self harm, please contact the self-harm help line:  
> https://www.crisistextline.org/selfharm
> 
> If you want to learn more about self-harm and what to do, please check out NAMI's site:  
> https://www.nami.org/learn-more/mental-health-conditions/related-conditions/self-harm


End file.
